


A Lock With No Key

by Lynxrider



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe, Because I can, Creature Fic, Dom Prompto, Everyone has a secondary nature, F/F, Gangsters, Gladio doesn't know what he needs, Kink Negotiation, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Magic, Noctis has wings, Older Noctis Lucis Caelum, Older Prompto Argentum, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sub Gladio, Subdrop, Until Prompto finds him, Young Gladiolus Amicitia, Younger Ignis Scentia, scifi/fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-14
Updated: 2020-11-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:48:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 47,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27551803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynxrider/pseuds/Lynxrider
Summary: Gladiolus Amicitia–one of the most powerful denizens in Insomnia's Undercity, protege of Cor the Immortal, shield to the prince of Insomia's biggest Family, and youngest head the Amicitia Clan has ever seen. Yet for all his accomplishments, there was one thing Gladio still could not find; a lover who understood what he needed.That is, until a spitfire with a gatling saves him from the crossfire of warring Families. Gladio doesn't know what the hell is going on, or why this mysterious Human is stalking him, but he has never wanted someone more...And Gladiolus Amicitia is a man accustomed to getting what he wants.
Relationships: Gladiolus Amicitia & Ignis Scientia, Gladiolus Amicitia/Prompto Argentum, Lunafreya Nox Fleuret/Noctis Lucis Caelum
Comments: 10
Kudos: 34
Collections: Promptio Big Bang 2020





	A Lock With No Key

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was wondering why I dropped off the face of the planet, this is why! I've been working on this piece for the Promptio Big Bang 2020, and it has been a wild ride! So many people have touched this fic and helped me along the way, including @freosan, Lhugy_for_short, @Boogs and Charlie-Chan, you guys are the best T~T @Freosan has made an AMAZING artwork for this, so please send them alllll your love, I couldn't have asked for a better partner :D
> 
> In any case, enjoy this incredibly self-indulgent D/s creature fic. Have fun, heathens!

## Part 1

“Hey, Iggy. Do you think I’m narcissistic?” 

The words fell into the open without a thought, grumbled low beneath the heavy _thump thump thump_ of distant bass and the high, brittle buzz of fluorescent bulbs. The bar was empty, the night long past ‘late’ and dragging itself into hazy dawn, the city that never sleeps crushing the stragglers upon its streets beneath the heels of exhaustion. 

Ignis shifted minutely from his half doze, body languid in its recline as if the hard stool under his seat were the epitome of comfort, though it had to be digging into his tired muscles as much as it was Gladio. The lights above the bar shifted abruptly from neon blue to retina burning pink, washing the both of them in monochrome pallor. Gladio found–even as it bit into his eyes like a rusted nail in the hands of a particularly cruel torturer–that he didn’t particularly mind the shift. Nor did he mind the green that came after, or the purple, each change in color announced with a staccato buzz that was felt more than heard. No, he liked the way the light danced over his skin, his black jacket long since discarded and his crisp white sleeves–not so crisp after the day he’d had, shit–rolled up to his elbows. The ends of inked feathers peeked through, still novel even after the two years he’d spent painstakingly acquiring his art and the two years since. The color washed over him, each tone either highlighting the stark lines or making them sink into his skin like a shadow. 

A tiny clink of ice against glass telegraphed Ignis’ movements, the man _still_ drinking despite them sitting here for fuck knows how long, well past the point in which Gladio would have been drunk. With anybody else, Gladio would have been concerned. They were still on the job, technically. But then, Ignis’ kind were more durable when it came to poisons than the other denizens of the undercity. After all, when your secondary nature was a Serpent, a little alcohol wasn’t going to do much to affect you. 

“And what’s this about?” Ignis finally said, his refined drawl dragging Gladio out of his thoughts. Gladio twitched in surprise and it took him a full thirty seconds to remember that he’d indeed asked Ignis a question. Gladio glanced at his friend, blinking rapidly as the angular planes of Ignis’ face transitioned from startling pink to a nauseating green. The bastard still looked sharp as ever, his tie tightened perfectly about his neck and pinstripe vest buttoned to the very last. If his slicked blond hair hadn’t been mussed beyond saving from repeated drags of gloved fingers, Gladio might have thought the last fifteen hours of their shift hadn’t happened at all. Gladio didn’t even remember what happened to his own tie. Or his top three buttons. 

Not that he could bring himself to care. He’d never much abided by shirts anyway. 

Taking a moment to think, he fished his electric cig from his shirt pocket, flicking it to life with a quiet whir and a flash of muted color. Pressing the finger-length device to his full lips, he inhaled deeply before sighing and watched the vapor swirl and dissipate in the hazy air, savoring the instant buzz of nicotine. It was more psychosomatic at this point; he’d been forced to quit when he noticed it affecting his performance, but still found it hard to wean himself off the drug completely. Even if it was weak, though, he enjoyed the action of it, the way the smoke caressed his face with a ghostlike touch and calmed him like nothing else quite could. 

“Fuck if I know,” he finally answered, a half-beat too late and voice so grating after his long shift that he was surprised Ignis could even understand him. But then, Ignis had known him for most of his life, so he could probably understand Gladio even if he were blind drunk and gagged. Sometimes that was awesome, but right now Gladio almost wished he hadn’t said anything at all.

Ignis hummed noncommittally, slim pupils narrowing further in the pale light as he regarded his friend. “Something’s been bothering you lately.” 

It wasn’t a question. Not that it needed to be–it wasn’t like Gladio was going to deny it. Problem was, he couldn’t have answered the allegation even if it hadn’t been rhetorical, because Gladio just couldn’t pin it down. He didn’t _know_ what was bothering him specifically, and that was probably making everything worse. 

He exhaled again, releasing a haze that seemed to sink into his thoughts, muddling them like the air in front of his face. 

Gladio wasn’t the kind of man who made a big deal out of things; he didn’t dramatize, didn’t whine or complain like most everyone tended to when things got tough. He didn’t commiserate with his friends and colleagues over whatever bullshit drama happened to flavor the monotony of their lives that week. He just...dealt with it. It was who he _was_. 

Gladio was the type of guy that other people went to when shit hit the fan. It wasn’t a surprise; never had been. Big guy like him? With muscles like his, borne through hundreds upon hundreds of hours of hard, backbreaking work, and his dominating magic and natural command he’d inherited from a long line of strong, proud soldiers? It was no wonder people looked to him as a shelter from the worst of it. If it wasn’t his size or his lineage, it was his proven prowess in combat. The stories of his feats traveled far and wide along the dark streets of Insomnia, feared by his enemies as much as he was admired and sought after by those who would hire him for their own ends. It was what was expected of him and Gladio had never disappointed, meeting every challenge presented with almost machine-like efficiency. 

Beyond that, his easy going personality and ready smiles ensured that those who would know him came to him as a confidante, laying their secrets and insecurities on wide shoulders that could bear their weight without faltering or judgement. He was well known for his sharp tongue, able to cut to the wick of issues as easily as soothe away the hurts. 

His strength in body–and to some extent, character–was both a gift and a curse. A gift, because despite his limited number of years, he looked like a man well into his prime. His countenance and potent aura further cemented the image that he could handle, _had_ handled, the worst the world could throw at him. For his profession, that meant _everything_ because looks were half the battle; you couldn’t be as effective a Shield if you didn’t look the part. His sheer size drove off more would be opportunists than his actual abilities, something his clients often banked on and what got him hired again and again despite his youth. It was why he was so successful so early, already having made a name for himself and with more money than he knew what to do with. 

It was a wretched _curse_ because sometimes Gladio still felt out of his depth–despite that he’d been doing this for four years now, he was still years and _years_ behind his peers. To his detriment, it meant taking on jobs that were more emotionally and physically draining than he was perhaps prepared for. Sometimes he wished he would show a modicum of the inexperience he actually felt, if only so that he could take just one easy job, just _one._ But he was Gladiolus Amicitia, dammit, and he never backed down. 

“To answer your question,” Ignis said, leaning more heavily on the bar, lithe body adjusting to the uncomfortable seat with the natural grace he’d been gifted, “I can count on one hand the number of times you’ve spoken at length about yourself.” 

Gladio choked on his next inhale, an aborted laugh. “I _know_ that’s not true,” he said gruffly, clearing his throat. It wasn't like he was the quiet, closed lipped sort. He enjoyed being the life of the party, a friendly ear for those who needed a soundboard, and spoke often of things that mattered to him. 

Ignis blinked slowly with both sets of eyelids as if _Gladio_ was the one being ridiculous. “Oh, but it is. You talk about work, your family, the state of the world. I remember distinctly an entire _year_ where all you would speak of was the tattoo you wanted and what it would mean to your father to have the tradition upheld.” 

“All that stuff...relates to me,” Gladio said slowly, an uneasy frown growing on his face. What was Ignis’ point?

“Sure,” Ignis said easily, “But the only things I know about _you_ and what _you_ like are things I’ve observed myself. You hate carrots, but still eat them first so you can enjoy the rest of the meal. You adore romance novels and read them only when you think no one is watching. You like the way the air and soft fabrics feel on your skin and detest the starch clothes of your trade. You–”

“Alright, sheesh. You know all this makes you sound like a creepy stalker, right?” Gladio cut him off, feeling a light heat on the back of his neck for being so thoroughly observed. 

“My point is,” Ignis continued, unperturbed by the accusation, “that no, I don’t think you are a narcissist. I think you are a very dutiful individual who often puts his own needs beneath the expectations of others.” 

Silence fell between them again as Gladio contemplated Ignis’ words, none of which he could really refute, only...only that didn’t quite cover it.

“...Are you going to tell me what this is really about? Does this perhaps have something to do with the escalating gang violence of late?” His friend gave him a searching look, one that was becoming increasingly grating as the night wore on. Gladio didn’t particularly like it when he turned those slitted eyes in his direction, as if he could see through Gladio as easily as he could see through walls and illusions. “You do realize that’s not your doing, right?” 

Gladio stared down at the bar beneath his folded arms, watching the play of light over its polished surface without really seeing it. On the edge of the bar, the reflection of the Exit light flickered dully, almost mocking him. He ignored it.

“No, nothing like that,” he said. He knew on some level that it wasn’t objectively his fault. An Amicitia hadn’t been in the Business for a good decade, his presence and success causing something of a shift of power that hadn’t happened in a while. But he wasn’t–ha–narcissistic enough to think that the subsequent upheaval was entirely his doing. He was only a small piece of the intricate web that made up Insomnia’s undercity, and his was a story of many predecessors and layers upon layers of intrigue he hadn’t even begun to understand. 

No, the mounting tensions were expected, something he’d been prepared for when he decided to take up his late father’s place in the family business. 

This... _ache_ , this–unsettling feeling that he’d been dealing with wasn’t something that happened overnight. It had mounted within him slowly, like the kind of impotent frustration that built in your esophagus. A flash of irritation here, a hint of stress there, and suddenly an irrational urge to _break_ things that built and built and _built_ until you were choking on it, until it was starting to become impossible to ignore or repress. The worst part was that it seemed aimless, like he was an adolescent just figuring out how to control his anger through the unreasonable mood swings of puberty. But Gladio was well into his twenties now and he had no excuse for that kind of behavior. 

“Is it about Aranea, then?” Ignis prodded again and Gladio sighed, knowing that Ignis wasn’t one to give up an avenue of inquiry once opened. It was his job, after all. As a friend, he wouldn’t usually pry so hard into something so personal, but Gladio recognized the looks he’d been giving him these past months as he’d become more and more surly for no apparent reason. Not that he was taking it out on his partner or anything, but it was kind of hard to miss how easily Gladio seemed to lose his cool lately. His baser instincts were shamefully in the fore for all that he should have mastered them when he reached manhood, speaking more in growls than actual words and flashing his fangs at the undeserving. 

And, to be fair, Gladio was the one to start this conversation.

So Gladio didn’t rebuff the question. He thought about his girlfriend of six months, though they’d only truly been together for perhaps the last two. Aranea was the daughter of the boss of one of the more influential crime families this side of town and had a hand in most every trade deal in the past eight years. She’d been indomnible at first, equal in beauty as she was in fierce pride and strength, with a voice that could strip a man of his will. The chase had been thrilling, a give and take of harsh barbs and flirtatious banter. And the _sparring._ Gladio will never forget the first time he’d challenged Aranea to a fight and lost spectacularly, face down and pinned ruthlessly by someone half his size. It should have been humiliating. On some level it _was._ Gladio didn’t lose as a general rule, not since he was a whelp just learning to fight under one of the greatest trainers of this generation. And yet, she’d bested him easily as if he were a fumbling oaf just on the cusp of killing his first daemon. 

It lit a fire in Gladio that he’d never quite known before and made him chase her all the more fiercely. He wanted all that dizzying, fierce power to be _his._

At least...that’s what he thought.

The first time Aranea rolled over and yielded to him was the moment Gladio truly began to realize that something was wrong. It had shocked him in a way he hadn’t expected, because hadn’t that been what he wanted all along? Hadn’t he _wanted_ to dominate her just as much as he dominated in everything else? She was a woman who demanded worship, who only submitted for those she found worthy. When someone so powerful, stronger than him even, gave up their power because they found him worthy of it, shouldn’t he feel happy, proud, excited?

It only made him feel empty.

What was _wrong_ with him? Why couldn’t he enjoy it, take it like it was his due, what he’d _earned?_

But for Gladio, in that devastating moment, she became _just like everyone else._ Which made no sense at all, because he’d fought hard and painstakingly long to achieve that kind of acknowledgement and he thought this time would be different than all the others that came before her; men and women that gave into him because of his size or his prowess or who he was. 

Gladio didn’t understand why it frustrated him so much, and that only made him _more_ frustrated, a growing chasm inside of him that ached for something he couldn’t reach, something he didn’t know to reach _for._

“I think I might be an inconsiderate lover,” he said instead of any of that, closing his eyes against the growing pit in his chest that he’d been nursing for the better part of a year. 

Ignis actually scoffed at him. “Not from what I’ve heard. If you were any more praised one would think you were some sort of deity in bed.” 

Gladio grimaced. “You know most of that is people blowing hot air to make themselves look good.” Yeah, sure, Gladio was good at what he did. He made it a point to be as good in bed as he was with everything else. It was...not expected of him, exactly, but something he expected of himself.

“Even still. There is always a grain of truth to rumors. Not that I want to hear anything firsthand, mind you, but what makes you say that? Has Aranea left your trysts unsatisfied?” 

Gladio shook his head, trying to take another pull of his e-cig only to realize it was out of power. He put in on the bar slowly, carefully, rather than throw it across the room like he wanted. The urge passed. “‘Course not.” He’d given her his all, because she’d demanded it. And well. She deserved every ounce of his attention and care when they were together. 

“Are _you_ leaving unsatisfied?” 

Gladio’s silence was telling. He grunted and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure if he still wanted to talk about this. Gladio wasn’t one to complain, and even if he was, he wasn’t sure what he would complain _about._ Aranea was everything he should have wanted and he couldn’t actually think of something else he wanted more, so what was the point? “As satisfied as ever, I guess. Just...can’t get into it? Like, I’m there, it’s happening, but...I kind of wish I was by myself?” Which sounded horrible, like he was just using her to get off. Not that she didn't get her fill of enjoyment off his body as well... “It makes me feel tired.” When he looked down on her, her face slack with satisfaction and free of the burdens of her command, he felt...like it should be him. Why wasn’t it him? 

He ran a hand over his face, wondering how that was supposed to make sense, didn’t know if he was articulating it right even in his own mind. So, what? He wanted to _be_ her? That wasn’t right...but it made about as much sense as wanting her power and being disappointed when she gave it to him.

She was the one who always called him when it happened. He’d contacted her plenty, but it was a crapshoot whether she’d actually answer, and Gladio had to admit that he didn’t mind as much as he should. It was as if, now that she’d gotten what she wanted, the thrill was over, and he couldn’t bring himself to disagree. He could only really get that thrill back when they were sparring, which had happened a hell of a lot less once they started fucking. 

Maybe it was never the sex he wanted from her. He just didn't know anymore. 

“It’s over, in any case,” he said gruffly, wanting to drop it. “She dumped me.” 

“Oh? Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised. Her reputation is almost as bad as yours.” Gladio shot him a glare, but as ever, Ignis was unaffected. He was one of the very few people who could stand beneath the full force of Gladio’s golden gaze and Gladio loved him for it, even if it was annoying at times. “Still...how are you? Being cast aside by a woman like that can’t have been easy.” 

“Actually, it was the easiest part,” Gladio admitted. He’d been relieved, almost, even if it only added to the mounting frustration he just couldn’t seem to curb lately. She hadn’t even been particularly cruel about it, just invited him for a drink and told it to him straight. That she was bored. That she’d found someone else. Then they’d shot the shit for four hours, got wasted, and it ended up being one of the best nights he’d had with her in months. So yeah. They were better off as friends, and he didn’t regret a moment of it. He laughed under his breath. “She told me we were too similar for it to work out between us.”

“Hm. I can see that,” Ignis said thoughtfully. He didn't elaborate, but Gladio didn’t really want him to. 

He was so fucking tired. 

“Is that little shit going to come out of there anytime soon, or _what?”_ Gladio grumbled, rubbing at his eyes with more force than strictly necessary, black and white and red exploding behind his eyelids. 

Ignis glanced over at the door at the far end of the bar, his eyes glowing hot briefly as he assessed their charge through the barrier of the door. It was a magical ability inherent in Serpents that Gladio had often wondered if he was jealous over or really, really not. After a moment, Ignis winced and released the magic with a tired sigh. “He’s out cold. Not surprising that he’s passed out after all he drank tonight.” 

Another growl. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Does he really expect us to wait for him all night?” 

“Please. As if Caelum is the most selfish person we’ve ever worked for.” 

“No, just the biggest pain in the ass,” Gladio grumbled. He should have been off shift hours ago, and yet, he’d let Caelum flash those puppy eyes of his and drag them to bar after bar while he got plastered and eventually ended up in the arms of some blonde Fox. Ignis and Gladio were tasked with keeping him safe, sure, but this was beginning to blur the lines of professionalism and stray into the territory of begrudging indulgence.

Despite the inconvenience it was easy to keep watch right now, at least. The bar was empty and there was no way in or out of that room save for the one Noctis had entered. As the son of the largest Family in Insomnia, Noctis was disgustingly spoiled, his father more concerned with making him happy than grooming him to take over the Business. It was completely different to how Gladio was raised and he just couldn't understand the hedonism of it all. Didn’t Noctis have any pride? It was hard to believe sometimes that Noctis was ten years older than him.

And yet, he couldn’t help but like the guy when he was sober enough to have a coherent conversation. Noctis was intelligent and insightful and so painfully awkward that it tickled Gladio’s protective instincts like few clients ever did. 

Didn't mean he wasn’t a pain in the ass still. 

“If you want, you can go ahead,” Ignis offered, to Gladio’s surprise. “I highly doubt anything of interest is going to happen tonight. It’s almost four in the morning.” 

“Astrals,” Gladio groaned, rubbing his eyes again. He hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours. No wonder he was so fucking maudlin. “You sure? You’re just as wiped as I am.”

“I’m sure,” Ignis assured with a crooked smile, flashing his fangs. “I can go for days without sleep, remember?” Gladio huffed, conceding the point. Serpents could live off sunshine and alcohol alone, it seemed. Reavers like Gladio, however, expended much more energy than most denizens to control their baser instincts and often capricious magic.

A little extra sleep was a price Gladio willingly paid for his power, however. Even if it sometimes made him feel like _this._

“I might just take you up on that Iggs. Thanks.” 

“You owe me one,” Ignis called as Gladio heaved his considerable bulk from his seat and made his way to the door, shaking the numbness from his legs. 

“Yeah, yeah. You can have my next day off,” Gladio promised, shouldering his way past the slightly too-narrow door frame and taking a deep breath of the chill air. It was the darkest part of the night, just before the gray of dawn where not even the most nocturnal of people bothered to broach. Gladio revelled in the silence and seclusion of it, letting the quiet wrap around him and the cool air brush over his sweaty skin. He didn’t even notice that he’d managed to leave yet another suit jacket over the back of the barstool, his shirt open and his defined chest exposed to the cool. 

Checking his phone to make sure he didn't have any messages of import–he didn’t, thank fuck, Cor didn’t have any new assignments qeued up–Gladio made his way down the street. The dark buildings of Insomnia towered high above him and blocked out the majority of the stars not already obscured by the smog that lay like a smothering blanket over the lower city. Gladio didn’t care, inhaling the smell of burning, refuse and smoke that was as familiar as his own reflection as he wandered past clubs that still spat stragglers into the night without care. 

His bones ached and his bathtub was calling him something fierce, a headache pounding as his eyes adjusted to the monochrome streets after the harsh neons of Noctis' favored clubs. After a nice long soak, he planned to collapse on his bed and not wake for at _least_ the next twelve hours. 

Gladio’s bike was still several blocks away yet and he idly considered what his schedule would look like for the next few weeks. But really, he was too tired to go too in depth. He’d leave that part up to Iggy. After all, it was more the meticulous man’s purview to make sure they stayed on track, not Gladio’s. 

He was maybe feeling a little bit better after talking. Not that he’d actually solved anything. The frustration was still there, ratchet and itchy like a badly fitting sweater, making him uncomfortable in his own skin. But even just the few words they exchanged made Gladio feel that it wasn’t just his imagination, at least. 

Hm. Ignis was good like tha–

Gladio’s scalp prickled, his eyes snapping open from their half daze. He didn’t pause in his casual stroll or allow his shoulders to tighten, continuing on as before even as his nostrils flared and his hair stood on end. 

He was being followed.

It wasn’t obvious at first. Gladio couldn’t actually see anything amiss. But he’d been trained–had been _bred_ – to be able to tell when something was off, an animal instinct that buzzed beneath his skin and darkened his eyes, the swooping sensation of stepping down an unexpected stair putting him on high alert. 

Four, maybe five people were following him at street level. The rooftops were low in this section of the city, so perhaps more above as well, though Gladio couldn’t be positive. His heart rate picked up, the shadows about his form becoming longer, more sinister as his instincts prickled. Damn. He really shouldn’t have come out here alone. It was never quite safe for anyone to walk the streets at this time of night, but he didn’t think anyone would ever be this blatant about stalking _him._ Ignis hadn’t thought so either, otherwise he wouldn't have let him leave without him.

Cursing internally, Gladio assessed his body, made sure he actually had the energy to fight. His magic levels were as high as they ever were, but without physical energy to utilize it it could do more harm to him than good. He wasn’t at that point of exhaustion yet, but he couldn’t exactly afford for this to go on for too long either.

Did he make a stand here? Were they actually going to attack, or were they just scoping him out? He hoped it was the latter, because he was damn tired and he wasn’t sure how much he could handle right now. 

The option was taken from him as he sensed himself surrounded on all sides. His adrenaline spiked and Gladio allowed his magic to crystalize in his blood, an invisible force beneath his skin. It was either face them now or let them get the drop on him. 

He stopped in the middle of an intersection and threw his head back, his voice deepening to a dangerous gravel. “Come out, motherfuckers! I know you’re there!” Gladio felt his eyes blacken until no gold remained as his challenge was answered, sharpening his vision and heightening his perception. Four Wraiths slipped from the darkness’ embrace, wreathed in shadows that clung lovingly to their forms as they moved. 

Gladio paused, genuinely surprised. 

Night embodied, Wraiths appeared much less Human than most of the races that called the dark undercity home. Most that lived here could conceal their secondary traits if they so desired, yet Wraiths could not, often presenting featureless shadows in lieu of a face. So too, were their natures furthest from Humanity, often driven purely by their basest instincts of greed and compassionless pragmatism. Not exactly the kind of creatures one wanted to encounter with no backup, especially when they tended towards piracy and mercenaries. 

Just his fucking luck that they would choose tonight of all nights to mess with him. He could only hope that this was a random encounter and not premeditated, or he could be in real trouble.

Gladio rolled his shoulders, allowing his magic to manifest in crimson sparks that danced on his fingertips, summoning his sword in a rush of heady power. His opponents seemed unfazed as they watched his weapon materialize, all seven feet of pure liquid dusk sharpened to a wicked edge. He hefted the unwieldy sword as if it were no more cumbersome than a rapier, his magic flooding his muscles and making the task as natural as breathing. 

As the pleasure of his magic overwhelmed his system, his impotent aggravation that he’d been struggling with for the better part of the night bubbled and frothed to the surface. This time Gladio gave into it, letting it darken his eyes and fuel his bloodlust for the coming fight, even as his mind raced with the implications of their aggression. “What do you want? I don’t have anything you thugs would be interested in.” 

“Greetings, Amicitia,” one of the larger Wraiths said with little inflection. “I’ve come with a message from Ravus Nox Fleuret. Surrender peacefully and we might show mercy.” 

Gladio frowned. Ravus? What the hell did he want with Gladio? His thoughts raced furiously even as he ground his heels into the concrete, body readying itself automatically. Yet he could not call forth a single reason why the son of a fallen house would have any sort of interest in him. 

As far as Gladio was aware, the Fleuret Family was long gone after the vicious gang wars that ended ten years ago between the Caelum Family and the Niflheim Cartel–a struggle for dominance that ended in the near obliteration of both. They’d been in a tense truce ever since, the Caelums holed up in the northern sector of the city while Niflheim dominated the South and a great deal of the West. Many minor houses were absorbed in the war, the Fleuret house among them, a steadfast ally of the Caelums that had become a casualty in Niflheim’s quest for power. Why Ravus, the prince of the fallen house of Fleuret, would single out Gladio was beyond him. It wasn’t as if either of them had been old enough to even participate in the wars, much less find a reason to begrudge each other enough to hire _assassins._ Especially since Gladio was fairly certain they’d never even met.

Something else was going on here. 

“What does Ravus want with me?” Gladio asked cautiously.

“Surrender, Amicitia,” another Wraith demanded flatly, and Gladio realized in an instant that he wasn’t going to get the answers he sought from these hired guns. He barely had time to growl his denial before he was dodging a spray of gunfire, Ravus’ ‘messengers’ apparently losing patience. Gladio leapt back with a grunt as the bullets slammed into his natural shield, magic shimmering and straining under the assault and leaving bruises on his skin. It bowed beneath the pressure but did not break. He snarled, enraged by this unprovoked attack, lunging into the fray faster than thought, powerful legs pumping in a dead sprint that threw him right into their midst. Stopping with a gust and a whip of his long midnight hair, Gladio heaved his weapon from his shoulder and swung, taking out two in a spray of gore before they could even draw their blades. 

In his hand, Gladio’s blade hummed, absorbing the brackish blood on its heated metal like a hungry beast. Gladio could feel that same hunger igniting in himself, boiling inside of him as he allowed instinct to take over completely. It seemed that there would be no more negotiation. Not that he’d expected much from creatures like these. 

The fight wasn’t over yet, despite that he’d halved their number–quite literally. Two escaped his initial assault, leaping backward as their companions fell like fodder at his feet. They clung to the buildings on either side of the street, glaring down at him with formless eyes and unaffected by the dying throes of their companions. “Come and get me,” Gladio taunted, shouldering his sword once again. “Or are you too weak to face me? Why did Ravus bother sending weaklings like you in the first place?” 

“As we said,” the first who had spoken drawled, and Gladio’s hair rose how calm he sounded. “We’re only here to deliver a message.” 

Gladio opened his mouth to point out that he’d _asked for the message and they shot at him_ , but before he could utter a word, a blast of pure energy hit him in the back, blinding him. He choked, flinging himself forward with a vicious curse. What the fuck was that? Heart racing in his throat, Gladio tried to see, but the second he turned around he was blinded a second time, the force battering into him like a truck and burning his retinas. Then he was hit again, a third, fourth time, his shields struggling to stay whole beneath the disorienting onslaught. 

Shit, fuck, he wasn’t just getting jumped, this was a motherfucking _trap._ They’d _lured_ him here and he’d fallen for it like an idiot. Gladio growled in frustration as yet another shockwave went off at his feet, nearly shattering his defenses. He jumped with it, using its momentum to force his body from the center of the intersection so he could see what the hell was hitting him. 

Blinking the spots out of his eyes, Gladio finally saw them. Three massive cannons stood at the end of each street, sparking and spitting blinding energy into the washed out road; the kind of weapons that only the elite of the undercity could afford–certainly not something someone like _Ravus_ should be able to afford. This was no joke. These guys meant to put him down swiftly and brutally. Gladio was torn between feeling flattered they thought he warranted this kind of firepower and laughing incredulously at the sheer overkill of bringing military grade weapons to take care of one man. What the hell was going on? 

Better yet, how had Gladio not seen them? He realized a second later as they shimmered, tracking his movements like birds of prey. Illusion magic. Of _fucking_ course. That was why Ravus had sent Wraiths–only they could conceal something this big. Still, he should have _noticed_ . The weapons were twice his size, and he’d walked right by one. He must have been more exhausted than he thought. Or _maybe_ he was too damn distracted by his childish drama to notice he was walking into a goddamn _war zone._ He could already hear the lecture Cor was going to blast him with the second he got himself out of this mess.

He had to get himself out of this mess. 

This was why Sheilds never went anywhere without a partner, and like an _idiot_ , he’d left his behind instead of sticking with him and doing his fucking job. Ignis would have spotted them a mile away.

The guns whirred, magic building palpably in the air and Gladio hefted his sword with an animalistic growl, baring his lengthened teeth in defiance. His barrier couldn’t take much more of a beating. He wasn’t a long range fighter, more suited to close combat, and there was no way he could get to one gun and destroy it before the others took his back. 

The magic got heavier and Gladio cursed. If he was going to do something, he needed to do it _now._

“Didn’t you have a message for me?” he demanded again, stalling for time. 

“Your body is the message,” the man said dispassionately. Gladio barked a laugh. Of course. So much for _mercy._ And a message for _who,_ exactly?

Gladio narrowed his eyes at the closest gun and tensed for a dead run. He would only have one shot at this. Maybe he was fast enough to destroy it and run past before the others destroyed him, but the odds of that were pretty slim. But at least if he was going down, he would take one of these motherfuckers down with him.

Sending a swift prayer to Titan for strength, Gladio launched forward with a snarl, forcing his eyes to stay open through the blinding light as he lifted his sword high–

The squeal of tearing metal, the rapid bite of machine gun fire and the screams of dissipating Wraiths consumed Gladio’s senses as something hard slammed into him from the side, sending him sprawling with an undignified yelp. He hit the ground hard enough to jar his teeth, his mouth filling with his own blood as one of his fangs bit into his lip. Spitting iron onto the ground, Gladio looked up, forcing his tired eyes to focus and paint the impossible picture before him.

A man stood over Gladio’s prone form, silhouetted against the fading light. His deceptively slim frame was wrapped in a form-fitting pinstripe suit that did much to accentuate his lean muscle and effortless bearing. From his firmly planted boots and his arched, slim waist, to the tightness of his broad shoulders, there was a line of furious tension that Gladio could feel in his _bones_. It took Gladio several interminable seconds to realize that what he held in his hands was a massive machine gun, impossibly large for someone who looked to be half Gladio’s size, and as easily hefted as Gladio bore his sword. It smoked, a thin stream of white curling into the air and filling Gladio’s nose with the smell of acrid gunpowder. Slowly, Gladio dragged his eyes away from the man and took in the scene around him, utterly shocked to find all three canons destroyed. Riddled with holes and sparking with the dregs of magic, their operators were little more than burnt husks that may have once been men. 

“What the fuck,” Gladio breathed, and realized belatedly that he could barely hear himself, the ringing in his ears harsh and clattering. 

“Are you alright?” a soft, yet commanding voice pierced through the haze and Gladio inhaled sharply. The man hadn’t turned around yet, still surveying the area for enemies. Gladio opened his mouth to say – _something,_ when his magic burned him with an angry crackle, his sword disappearing in a flash of crimson sparks. He winced and grit his teeth. Well, that was that, then. He was done. He let it go without a fight, realizing that holding his shield would only harm him at this point. He was at the mercy of this stranger’s whim now, and could only hope that his intentions were as altruistic as they appeared…

Gladio eyed the machine gun warily, swallowing past his acute vulnerability to speak.

“They almost had me,” Gladio said hoarsely instead of answering the man’s question, struggling to right himself on the ground. He looked up, the warm gold of his irises returning as he took in the stranger with disbelief. “You took them out like it was nothing!” 

The man finally allowed his shoulders to relax, easing his gun down to his side as he turned around. Gladio gaped as he met eyes of the purest blue he’d ever seen, a thrill shooting up his spine at the displeased scowl on the stranger’s thin lips. He was older than Gladio, maybe in his early thirties, with fair features and a smattering of freckles over a slim nose. The man’s blond brows drew together. “That isn’t what I asked,” he said in that same soft tone. Soft, yet it brokered no argument. Something in it had Gladio swallowing around his retort, a feeling he had no name for falling heavy across his shoulders like a leaden blanket.

Heedless to his staring, the man kneeled down in front of Gladio’s sprawled form, grasping one of the larger man’s hands and inspecting it with serious eyes. Gladio winced slightly as deceptively strong, slim fingers dug into his abrasions clinically, looking for a break or a sprain where he’d struck the ground. 

Gladio stared numbly into a wild nest of blond as he was handled by a complete stranger who seemed to have absolutely no compunction about touching him as he pleased. His scent enveloped Gladio, obscured as it was beneath the gunpowder but still prevalent. It brought to mind the warm glint of sunlight cutting through shadow, the rare taste of fresh fruit sweet on his tongue, and something he couldn’t define that had the tension leaking from his limbs as easy as any sieve. “Uh…”

It was as if his voice snapped some invisible bubble between them, because the man jolted, looking up in shock as if only just realizing what he was doing. He gaped, still holding onto Gladio’s hand and Gladio had no idea what to say, a flush making its swift way up his neck in a way he fervently hoped the darkness concealed. 

“Oh my gods, I’m so sorry,” the blond said, snatching his hands back as if burned. Gladio stared down at his palm, mourning the loss without knowing why. The man seemed beside himself with apologetic nervousness, scrambling back on his heels. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that, I-I just–” he cleared his throat, getting back to his feet and looking away. “Are you alright?” 

“Who are you?” Gladio said, leaving the question unanswered for a second time. But he really was fine. To prove his point, he lifted himself from the ground on protesting muscles, standing tall and straight and unharmed. He looked down at the stranger, who was a full head shorter than him and roughly half his weight. Gladio blinked, surprised. He’d seemed so much bigger a second ago.

This time the man didn’t seem to notice that his question had been avoided, rubbing the back of his neck in a nervous tick that was completely at odds with the commanding presence he’d been just moments before. The contrast was so stark that Gladio almost thought he’d imagined the last few minutes. But one glance at the still smoking gun at the slighter man’s side and the devastation around them blew that thought away.

“I’m nobody,” the man said under his breath before something sparked in his eyes. “Are you going to answer or not?”

Gladio’s brows lifted, watching him closely. “I’m fine. It takes more than a hard fall to take me out.” 

White flashed in the dim as the man smiled tentatively. “Yeah, I can see that, big guy. But even Reavers need backup sometimes. Where’s your partner?” 

Gladio’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “How do you know I have one? Do you know me?” Was it possible that this man had something to do with the attack? But that didn’t make any sense...why would he save him if that was the case? 

It was the stranger’s turn to quirk a brow. “You’re more famous than you think, Gladiolus Amicitia.” 

Gladio supposed that was true. He was getting used to his notoriety. Still. He found it hard to believe that this was a coincidence. 

The man seemed to shrink into himself a little more as Gladio’s silence waxed. “Well, anyway...since you’re alright, I’ll take my leave.” 

Breaking out of his daze in an instant, Gladio snatched his arm as he tried to turn. “Wait! You saved me and now you’re just going to bolt without telling me your name?” 

The stranger looked down at the large hand wrapped around his wrist and trailed his eyes slowly up Glaidio’s arm, to his wide shoulder, to his face. Gladio shivered, unable to read his expression but getting the feeling he needed to let go. Now.

Gladio’s fingers tightened instead, the sharp thrill from before racing up his spine at the unyielding muscle beneath starched fabric.

The man looked Gladio straight in the eye and said in a dark, honeyed voice, “Let go.” 

A full body shiver tore through Gladio and he _did_ , instantly, his hand slipping from the stranger’s arm to fall at his side. Gladio stared down at his own arm as if it betrayed him. 

The man was watching him more closely now, disbelief and suspicion coloring his features. He looked just as shocked as Gladio felt. 

Unsure what to draw from such an expression, Gladio insisted again, “Tell me your name. Please? It’s only fair. Since you know mine.” He felt...nervous, wrong footed, as he waited for the mysterious man to decide. Like he wanted to stand up straighter, maybe look more impressive. But he was exhausted and he couldn’t help how bedraggled he appeared, sweat dripping down his neck and chest, his long hair a rioting mess and...what was wrong with him? Why did it _matter?_

“It’s…” the man said, instantly snapping Gladio back to attention with a voice that carried the gravity of the sun. He was looking up at Gladio with something akin to cautious amusement, a small smirk pulling at thin lips that Gladio found he mirrored despite himself, reassured for some reason he couldn’t pinpoint. “It’s Prompto Argentum,” he said finally, taking a step back from the charged space between them and looking away shyly. 

“Prompto,” Gladio repeated in a low growl, not quite sure he could get enough air inside of him to speak more clearly. “Would you like to get a drink with me?” 

That startled a laugh from the older man, an incredulous look passing over Gladio from head to foot before dancing over his face like he couldn’t quite believe what he just heard. “It’s a little early in the morning to be drinking, big guy. Maybe next time.” 

“I’ll hold you to that,” Gladio rumbled, and something dark passed over Prompto’s face before disappearing just as swiftly, leaving Gladio staggered all over again. 

“You should really get some rest. The way to your bike is clear and I don’t think Ravus will give you any more trouble today.” Prompto said, seeming to draw himself together. “I’ll see you around, Amicitia.” 

Before Gladio could correct him– _call me Gladio_ –between one tired blink and the next, Prompto was gone, leaving nothing but smoking corpses and a very whiplashed Reaver in his wake.

Two things stood out starkly to Gladio in the few minutes after the stranger’s swift exit. One, he’d just been saved by the singular most interesting man he’d ever encountered after being attacked, completely unprovoked, by someone he’d never met. 

And two; this _Prompto_ knew where he parked his bike.

* * *

## Part 2

Heat pulsed beneath Gladio’s skin. Twitching in the throes of a dream, a bead of sweat trailed down his neck to settle on his pillow and disappear into the fibers as easily as a dew drop on dry earth. He shifted restlessly, eyes flicking rapidly behind closed lids and muscles working along his jaw. His throat clenched around the sounds that couldn’t make it into the waking world. 

Covers long thrown from his heated body, his feet lay tangled at the foot of his bed, hips shifting restlessly against the rumpled sheets. His arms lay above his head, resting against the cold of his iron bed frame as if anchored there, the rough sensation of hands around his wrists a fresh memory on his skin. Gladio groaned, the low rumble of his voice filtering through the room, heard by none but the wily owl that lived outside of his bedroom window, hidden in a nook on the abandoned building opposite. 

Crystal blue haunted Gladio’s dreams, he ice within them cold enough to burn and sear through his veins like a potent drug. A mercurial voice filled with a command had him shaking with something akin to admiration; yet mere admiration had never inspired _this._ This was fire, it was ice and a heady weight over his body, holding him down and taking what it wanted from willing flesh. Another groan tore from Gladio’s throat, a rasping growl that was more animal than man. Extended canines pressed into his lip as he held back a whimper, hips lifting from the damp sheets to grind fruitlessly into the air. Magic rippled in his core, driving him higher and higher, manifesting in the hitched exhales of his breath as tiny crimson sparks. His damp hair rose on end as phantom hands ghosted over Gladio’s bare form, caressing, clawing, tickling and Gladio could do nothing to stop it. Nor did he want to. His arms were tied, no longer under his control. His body was no longer under his control. He’d given that control to–

The harsh squeal of tearing metal shattered through the room and Gladio awoke with a gasp. For several moments he could only breathe and try to absorb his surroundings, his dreams clutching him with covetous claws. Pain shrieked through his arms and he was finally able to look up. Biceps bulging and fingers aching something fierce, Gladio realized that his hands were so tightly clenched around the ironwork of his bed frame that he’d managed to bend it beyond repair. He shuddered and tried to release them, but a stern stare from his memories held him immobile. 

“What the hell,” Gladio gasped, shaking his head to banish the haunting eyes. With a hiss, he forced his hands to release, cursing under his breath as blood flow was abruptly returned to shaking limbs. What the hell had he been dreaming about? Why–

A shift of his hips had him gasping for an entirely different reason and Gladio looked down in shock to find himself achingly, desperately hard, as if someone had been teasing him for hours. The head of his cock was purple and thick with all the blood that seemed to have vacated his head, the rest painting his chest and abs with heat. Gladio bit his lip and winced as the cut he’d made in his sleep smarted sharply, a new bead of blood blossoming beneath sharp white fangs. But it did nothing to deplete the desperate arousal that held him taut. Without conscious thought, Gladio took himself in hand, ignoring the crimson that slithered down his chin and the creaking of his abused muscles. In fact, the pain only seemed to enhance his need, something he hadn’t felt so acutely in a long time. 

There was no more room for useless thoughts in the squall of sensation. Gladio breathed through the burn, throwing his head back and working himself quickly with two trembling hands. His manhood pulsed between his fingers as his tension rose, and when his eyes slipped closed, he could almost imagine the presence of another hovering over him and sharing their heat. The pain in his forearms was such that Gladio didn’t even sense the weight of himself in his palms; as if his hands were still immobilized above him while someone else worked him over with cold fingers and a powerful grip. Gladio could feel the ghost of breath over his racing pulse, could almost imagine the tickle of hair on his chin as blunted teeth threatened to bite. 

Then a whisper, low and smokey as crushed coal. 

_“Let go.”_

With a startled shout, Gladio did, abs clenching and heels digging into the mattress. His hips jerked into the air, seed splattering over his chest and the straining muscles of his neck. A flash of watchful blue stood starkly in his mind as he trembled. His muscles screamed. His fingers ached. His cock throbbed on this side of pain. But still, he didn’t stop, working himself with the drag of calloused skin over slick velvet beyond the point of sanity, aborted gasps and whimpers rising in volume until he couldn’t take it any longer. 

Gladio collapsed back into his soiled sheets, body still twitching through the aftershocks as his cock came to rest heavy against his pelvis, spent. Eventually, the roaring gallop of his heart slowed to a manageable drumbeat and Gladio was able to open his eyes to the decorative molding in the ceiling of his apartment, running blindly over the heavenly scene of a culture long dead. The angels in chipped gold-leaf mocked him, though their faces had long faded away. 

With a groan, Gladio rolled to his side, shutting out their smug judgement. 

What the hell was _that?_ He hadn’t had a dream that intense since...well, he couldn’t remember. He narrowed his eyes, but no matter how he glared at the distressed bedside table and the obnoxiously blinking alarm clock, he could not recall the specifics of his dream. 

“Fuck. It’s too early in the morning for this.” 

It was barely six, and already Gladio felt as though he’d run a marathon and fought a dozen enemies with Dusk Breaker at three times its weight. His back ached and Gladio knew that he’d probably strained himself in his sleep, over a _wet dream_ no less. What was he, a whelp? This was ridiculous. 

He knew exactly who to blame.

Prompto Argentum. Gladio had only the name, sixty seconds of time together and the haunting memory of his voice. Yet, even after the mere minute of their acquaintance, Gladio could not shake the intensity of his reaction–the boiling desire that still burned in his core like magic out of control. Weeks later, the thought of this mysterious Prompto still had him shaking in his boots, and not in an unpleasant way. No, it was just like when he’d met Aranea; the aching need in him to...fight? Fuck? No. Not quite. Still his desires were beyond definition...but Gladio couldn’t help but feel that this mysterious savior of his, he may finally find the key to his discontent. There was just something about him...

The only problem? Gladio couldn't find him. 

After his unexpected rescue, Gladio searched high and low for even a whisper of the name ‘Prompto’. But no matter who he asked or what favors he begged, he couldn’t find anything. No one could tell him about a slim blond man who favored the gatling, whose aura tasted of gunpowder and the blaze of the sun. No favors from high places nor expert spies could help him in his search. It was as if Prompto was a ghost. And yet, sometimes Gladio could almost catch his scent on the breeze, the tantalizing edge of flavor pausing him in his stride, turning his nose to the sky and scanning the effervescent shadows. Yet it was all for naught; the scent would drift away and Gladio would be no closer to his quarry.

Gladio sighed and levered himself up out of bed. Despite the ridiculous hour, he knew he wouldn’t be getting any more sleep. Better to just get the day over with. Not that he was particularly eager to repeat this morning’s experience. That was an intensity he didn’t want to suffer again. It had left him– _vulnerable_ in a way he was not used to being, and while in the midst of it it had felt amazing, only emptiness and shame lingered. 

“Get it together,” he told himself sternly in the cracked mirror of his tiny bathroom, glaring dolefully at the dark shadows beneath his eyes. 

Gladio had not been sleeping well these past weeks, and not only because of his strange encounter. The ache that had held him in its frustrating bind had only increased its grip tenfold after his path crossed with the mysterious man. He couldn’t really blame Prompto for it, though. Not when the stifling nature of Gladio’s job and the constant sneers of his jealous peers were just as much to blame for the simmering anger he couldn’t seem to shake. Not only that, but it seemed that the unsettling of his emotions had been affecting his magic just as surely as his mental state. It frothed and snarled beneath his sternum like a wild thing, waiting to lash out with the slightest provocation. 

It also hadn’t helped that he’d been royally reamed by Cor, Gladio’s boss and mentor, when the older Reaver had found out that he’d been attacked. Gladio had had to endure the disappointed scowl that only Cor was capable of–that Gladio was _not_ used to seeing turned in his direction–as if he were some lowly recruit that didn’t hold up to snuff. Hadn’t he done his best? 

Yet he knew that the anger came not from disappointment, but from worry. Cor was right to be concerned that his protege was targeted for reasons that neither of them could discern, especially since their guild remained steadfastly neutral despite Gladio and Ignis’ current assignment. Gladio couldn’t figure out why Ravus would have attacked _him_ , just a hired bodyguard–with an impressive lineage, sure, but still just a bodyguard–or for whom his death was meant to send a message. 

It just didn’t add up. 

In either case, Gladio knew he messed up. He shouldn’t have gone anywhere without his partner at that time of night, especially when they’d already heard rumors that there had been escalating violence lately. Shields came in pairs for a reason. 

Ignis had been beside himself when he’d heard, his mother-henning just as severe, if not worse than Cor’s. And while Gladio loved Ignis, his fussing grated and his constant presence after that day only seemed to add to Gladio’s stress. He was getting tired of seeing the concerned glances his partner cast him at every shift of Gladio’s mood. It only made Gladio even more testy and Ignis even more concerned and–well. It was a cycle that Gladio was struggling to break.

A small sound at his window gave Gladio pause. He narrowed his eyes, subtly scenting the air, but could find nothing amiss. Scanning his bedroom slowly, he walked to his window–dingy and old, letting in frigid air at the seams, but closed as far as it was able–and peered down into the dim streets below through his threadbare curtains. But the alley between his building and the next was deserted, not a soul in sight even towards the main road.

Taking one last cursory glance around at the dumpsters and refuse that littered the alley, Gladio sighed and went back to his bathroom, more uneasy than ever. 

To top everything off, Gladio couldn’t help but feel as if he were being watched. 

It wasn’t all the time, but it felt as if he could never quite let his guard down. Haunted, perhaps, by the ambush and the increasingly apparent reality that he was a target in a game much bigger than himself. 

That, and the distracting whisper of Prompto’s unique scent on the rare breeze; as if Gladio might find him around the next bend for all that he failed in his dogged search. Even now, it was as if Prompto’s presence tickled the edge of his awareness, even though he _knew_ the man was nowhere near. Why would he be? It wasn’t as if they’d made any promises in their short, if eventful, encounter. 

But Gladio was going in circles. Giving his reflection a final grimace, he jumped into the shower, washing the morning’s shame and uncertainty from his body. He didn’t need to meet up with Ignis for another two hours, so he took his time, drowning in icy water to cool his head and wipe away all unwelcome thoughts. 

Cleaner and calmer than before, Gladio went through his morning routine, moving about his rundown apartment with a familiarity that didn’t require much of his attention. He and Ignis had an easy day for once and he wasn’t going to ruin it by ruminating over things he couldn't control. 

His kitchen sat dark and empty, the remains of unhealthy meals piling high on its surfaces and its fires cold. Gladio passed it by without a glance. 

* * *

“Gladio. Gladio!” 

Gladio jerked upright from his daze, drink swirling absently in his hand, untouched. He and Ignis sat in yet another club, watching over their careless charge as Noctis mooned over his white Fox, the bartender that disappeared and reappeared with no rhyme or reason that Gladio could discern, and whom he chased with all the fervor of a lovesick pup. The prince was ensnared, and unfortunately, his enamored foolishness meant another dull day in a club for Noctis’ two bodyguards. Not that Gladio could particularly blame him. She was a gorgeous thing, and kind to a fault in the spare few times that Gladio had been in her presence. He just hoped that Noctis had his wits about him. Foxes, as a general rule, often had duplicitous natures...

With a grouchy rumble, Gladio glared at his companion, ignoring the reproving look in Ignis’ narrowed eyes. “What?” he snapped, then instantly regretted it when it came out harsher than he’d intended. Relenting, he lowered his voice with an apologetic mumble. “What do you need?” 

“I’ve been trying to tell you that we received word about–” 

“Prompto?” Gladio interrupted, perking up. Ignis glared until Gladio subsided, biting his lip. He winced when he grazed the small mark his clandestine morning had left on him. 

“No. For the hundredth time, I have not found anything about your paramour,” Ignis said with all the patience of the mother of a particularly thick child.

“Don’t call him that,” Gladio grumbled, slouching back into his booth and sinking as far as it would let him. Which was not much, with his large frame and the limited leg space beneath the small table. Why did they have to build everything in this damned world for people of average height? Would it kill them to give a man a bit more leg room? 

“What else should I call him, then? You swoon after this stranger like a Wolf on the full moon.” 

“He saved my life, Iggs,” Gladio complained. “I want to find him and thank him. It doesn't mean I–” Ignis cut him off with a deeply skeptical look and Gladio sighed. “Okay so maybe I do. What does it matter to you? You’ve never cared about who I fucked before.” 

“I care because I’m worried, Gladio,” Ignis said sharply. “You grow more aggressive by the day. I’ve never seen you react this way to anyone. You barely know the man and yet you seem to think of nothing else!” 

“He _saved my life!”_

“You knew him for a _moment,_ yet you treat him as if–”

“As if _what,_ Ignis. Say it.” 

“As if he were your mate,” Ignis hissed, and Gladio went cold, the glass creaking dangerously in his hand. With a force of will he released it, setting it carefully on the table. 

“I do not.” 

“You do,” Ignis rebutted, “You act like you’re going into Blood Fever after knowing his man for a _minute._ And I worry.” 

Whatever rebuttal Gladio was about to offer died a swift death on his tongue, the irritation that had been bubbling up at Ignis’ fussing simmering to nothing at the soft admission. He eyed his partner from beneath dark lashes, taking in his pinched lips, the purple shadows beneath his emerald eyes. Gladio wilted, guilt welling up on top of everything else. Shit. Gladio must really seem off if Ignis thought he was in danger of losing himself completely.

It was every Reaver partner’s worst nightmare. And Ignis had more reason to worry than most. The thought made Gladio wince.

“I’m not going into the fever, Ignis. I promise. I just…” Gladio said as gently as he could. “I don’t know! I have to meet him again. I _have_ to.” He could see the frustration in Ignis’ eyes, but Gladio couldn’t help it. Ignis didn’t understand Gladio’s burning _need_ to see Prompto again. Of course he didn’t. Gladio couldn’t even explain it to himself, much less articulate it to someone else. 

Ignis was silent for a long time, the dull bass of club music muted through the lounge door. “Alright. I’ll help you. But you need to get it together. We’re on the job and I know you haven't been taking care of yourself properly.” 

“... I know. I’m sorry, Iggs.” Gladio sighed. He glanced at the door behind them, still firmly shut with their charge behind it, indulging in the wiles of his fling. For a moment he couldn’t help but be jealous of Noctis’ careless dalliance. At least he was able to reach her... 

“Will you listen to what I have to say now?” 

Gladio took the reprimand for what it was and grunted in assent, taking a liberal mouthful of the liquor in his glass and ignoring the way his body tried to reject it. 

Ignis eyed him for a moment longer. “I have news about your attack.” 

That caught Galdio’s interest, but only partly. “Ah.” Ever since Gladio’s altercation with the Wraiths, Ignis had been putting his feelers out into the underworld to try and find its source. With his illusion magic and animal affinity, he was much better suited than Gladio to the kind of spy and subterfuge part of their job. “What did your little snakes learn?” 

Ignis lifted a brow, slitted eyes narrowing in incense for the interruption. “Not snakes. You know it’s too far into the winter for them. It grows colder by the night. No, I heard it through Cor himself. Apparently, Ravus is searching for his sister.”

“What the hell does she have to do with me?” Gladio mused, trying to think back. Had he even ever met the woman? It wasn’t as if he was– _had been_ –very discriminating on who he took to bed, but he thought he’d very well remember a woman of that status. Then again, his partners weren’t always so forthcoming with their identities; in Insomnia’s underbelly, the wrong name could get you killed. Still, Ravus was a minor thug for all that his house used to be powerful. There was no way he’d be able to pull the resources he’d thrown at Gladio without help. 

Yet what would Aldercapt, Ravus’ master and ruler of Niflheim, want with Gladio? No, there was something else to this, they just hadn’t yet discovered what. Ignis nodded as if he could read Gladio’s mind. Gladio wouldn’t be terribly surprised if he could.

“We don’t know much more than that, I’m afraid. What we could gather was so steeped in rumor and speculation, it was hard to parse out even that much.” 

That was less of a surprise. The truth was something of a commodity down here, where criminals reigned. False information was often as valuable as not, so people hardly tended to be discriminatory when they’d heard a story that suited their purposes. 

“Great, so Ravus thinks I’m fucking his sister or something and wants to kill me over it. Just what I need.” 

“Well,” Ignis said with some amusement, “It probably doesn’t help that you killed his messengers.” 

“Ha. Yeah, shoulda just let them off me. Then all my problems would be solved.” Gladio’s sardonic smirk fell, the dark thought not bothering him as much as it should. 

Before he could contemplate further, the door behind them burst open, Noctis Caelum staggering through with all the grace of a newborn chick. Approaching his mid-thirties, the man didn’t look a day over twenty-nine despite his bedraggled appearance. As the prince of one of the most powerful Families in the undercity, one would think the Raven would hold himself with more dignity. Alas, Gladio had never seen the older man in anything but tight black trousers and filthy combat boots, his hair a lank mess of onyx against his stubbled cheeks and his mottled wings near atrophied where they swayed drunkenly behind him, unhealthy from disuse and lack of care. Whatever beauty he might have held in his fair face was ravaged by the pallor of one who long lost the will to care for himself. Hazed blue eyes–a rare enough color, but nowhere near the purity of Prompto’s–passed over Gladio and Ignis, a smile widening on Noctis’ gaunt cheeks when he spotted them. 

“Amicitia! Schhhhentia! You’re still here!” he slurred, leaning heavily against the table. Ignis raised a brow. 

“Yes, of course we are, highness. We are charged with your safety, after all.” 

Noctis nodded very seriously. “Yes. Safety. Good men. I’ve never felt shhafer.”

“Right.” Gladio could feel his patience thinning, alcohol sitting sour in his stomach. He never really liked talking to Noctis when he was like this. It always made him feel conflicted between pity for Noctis’ poor state and sadness of what he knew the man should be. What he _could_ be, if only he hadn’t fallen into the insidious hold of addiction. Yet Noctis’ case was a common one; just another fool drowning his misery in unchecked hedonism, only ever what this wretched city had made him. 

Addiction. Obsession. Could Gladio really judge another when he, himself, was also in the grips of something that could very well bring his ruin? 

Gladio lifted himself from the table with a somewhat difficult heave. The bench behind him skidded back a foot. “I’m going to go...get some fresh air.” 

“You’re leaving the club?” Ignis said in alarm, half standing from his own seat. Noctis stared between them, hazed eyes adrift in confusion. 

“No. Yes? I’m just going to cool off a bit.” He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as they caught and tore through a tangle. 

Ignis’ gaze turned stern. “Gladio, you know…” 

“Yes, I know, I get it,” Gladio snarled, temper flaring unreasonably. Ignis was just concerned. He knew that. He just… He needed to get out of here before he lost it. Again.

“If I might make a suggestion?” Ignis said carefully, and Gladio half-turned to him, eyes locked on the door that would take him from this place. “There is a balcony on the roof of this building. The bar up there is closed, but I don’t think a bottle or two would be missed.” Ignis offered him a faint smile. “Just don’t leave the premises, if you please. I don’t want to have to suffer through another scare.” 

Gladio felt himself soften, the tight tangle in his chest loosening enough to allow him a steadying breath. “Yeah...yeah, I’ll do that. Thanks Iggy.” 

“Wait, you’re leaving?” Noctis interjected, eyes sharpening slightly. He had his arms wrapped around him as if it would hold his thin frame together. “You were just attacked! Shouldn’t you be...careful?” 

Gladio raised his brows, surprised. He hadn’t even been aware Noctis knew about that. It wasn’t the first time Noctis had caught him off guard in the short year they’d been acquainted, but he was usually well beyond the point of coherence this late into the night. “I’ll be careful,” he promised, feeling his shoulders relax further. Strange guy. Gladio was supposed to protect _him;_ he didn’t need to worry about his bodyguards.

“Good, that's...good,” Noctis mumbled, looking relieved. “I don’t want you taking risks you don’t have to. I would…” he shifted in place, slim fingers tightening at his sides. “I would miss you.” Then his attention sidled back to the door from which he’d come. “I need…” he swayed in place, his eyes locked on the door to the lounge before stumbling away. Gladio felt a twinge of disappointment as the rare glimpse of Noctis’ true self was once again shuttered by the curse of his addiction.

Gladio sighed, wondering seriously if Noctis was on something a little stronger than alcohol as the prince stumbled from view, the tips of his wings dragging against the ground heedlessly as if he’d lost the will to hold them aloft. “Are we sure that Fox he’s seeing checks out? Noctis looks like more of a wreck than usual.” 

Ignis bit his lip thoughtfully, as concerned as Gladio by Noctis’ increasingly strange behavior. But a moment later he made a dismissive gesture, pinning Gladio with a stern look. “Let me worry about that. You go take a break, and for goodness sake, _eat_ something. You look terrible.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Gladio chuckled, making his way to the door that would take him to the dance floor. He trusted Ignis to make sure nothing untoward happened tonight, and Noctis didn’t look in any shape to hop venues in any case. Not that he’d been doing that at all since he found his new lover... “Whatever you say, mom.” 

Ignis’ scoff was drowned out by the thumping of dance music. The door fell closed behind Gladio, shutting off the pleasant glow of their private lounge and plunging him into the harsh neons of the main club. Gladio grimaced as any warm feelings Ignis–and Noctis of all people–managed to give him fled under the heavy scent of stale sweat, the sharp perfume of spilled drinks, and the sickly sweet miasma of mingling pheromones. 

For the past few weeks, his sense of smell had been particularly sensitive. He didn’t know if it was a result of his search for his mysterious savior–straining to catch the slightest whiff of that comforting scent that seemed to tease the edge of his senses in unguarded moments–but it made places like this nigh unbearable as of late. Ironic, as just this mixture of scents would have excited him not too long ago. Now it just made him feel unclean. 

Gladio wondered just when exactly he’d become cognizant of this change. Yet when he thought about it seriously, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed it.

Gladio’s skin prickled as he eyed the unappealing press of bodies writhing on the dance floor, but resigned himself to passing through it. There was no other choice. The stairs to the roof were on the other side. Taking a shallow breath to brace himself, Gladio let his aura flare just a little, the gold of his eyes glowing demandingly in the gloom. Usually he wouldn’t bother to do so, but he _really_ didn’t want to have to touch anyone right now more than he had to. 

The effect was instant, the bodies closest to him–those not inebriated beyond reason, that is–shuffled aside in awe and alarm. Still, despite using his aura, he couldn't prevent contact altogether, using his arms to push through the more obstinate or drunk dancers. He shuddered as the space behind him closed back in, hands running over his back and shoulders without care for his mood, enamoured by his frame or his scent or _whatever_ it was that compelled others to touch him without his consent. 

Irritation and helpless anger coated the back of his tongue, more bitter than the swirl of sickly pheromones of those searching for a quick fuck. He just had to get to the goddamn stairs. Why did they have to be so fucking far away? He growled as a particularly bold touch ran around his hip, groping his front. He flicked the grasping claws away, ignoring the incensed hiss he could hear beneath the music as he no doubt bruised someone’s skin–and ego. 

Finally he reached the stairs, jumping carelessly over the barrier meant to keep others out, and took them in three large bounds to the second landing. The door was locked, but it didn’t stymie him at all, the large man simply breaking the knob and shouldering his way through. 

Fresh air washed over Gladio’s damp skin as he shut it behind him, leaning against the door in an exhausted slump. His breath ghosted in the cool air, little puffs of steam blurring his vision before dissipating. He felt nauseous, stomach clenching painfully, and Gladio couldn’t tell if it was because of hunger or the stink of others lingering on his skin. With a grimace, he shed his jacket on the ground, his shirt following soon after. He regretted that his pants couldn’t be shed as easily, snarling in disgust to see that someone had managed to spill their drink on him even in the brief moment he’d been on the dance floor. 

His stomach gave another uncomfortable lurch and Galdio conceded that perhaps Ignis was right. He really should have paid more attention to what he’d been eating... 

“What is wrong with me?” he asked idly, a question he’d been asking more and more frequently as the days and weeks passed. Snatching one of the bottles behind the unlit bar, Gladio wandered over to the balcony and stared out into the dark undercity, the shadows pierced with neon and the faint golden glow of the city above. Glancing up, Gladio saw the drift of snowflakes making it beyond the broad bridges of the shining upper city, somehow floating past the shimmering barrier between. It never snowed down here, not really, but it looked like winter was taking the world at last, the drifts falling slowly in a graceful imitation of the waterfalls that cascaded down the gutters in warmer months. 

Gladio shivered but ignored the way his bare skin prickled in the cold. It was better than wearing that nasty jacket. He wished he had a bucket of water to douse himself with, but would just have to wait until he could make it home. Pulling the cork out of the bottle with his teeth, Gladio took a swig of the lableless brew, coughing lightly as it worked its way down. It was no meal, but it warmed him just the same. 

Taking a long breath, Gladio wished away the unpleasant odor of the city, chasing the memory of warm sun, cold strawberries and sharp gunpowder as if the rest of life were a momentary distraction from his mysterious rescuer; so close he could practically taste it. He longed for the purest blue of the sky that he’d only ever heard rumors of from travelers, and the messy strands of gold that accompanied rough but caring hands. The thing was, he still wasn’t sure _why_ he felt such an acute longing any more than he knew the reason behind his frustrations of late. 

He considered Ignis’ words. Did he speak the truth? Was Gladio already thinking of this man as his mate? Is that why the pheromones of others no longer appealed, their touches bringing nothing but the sour taste of bile to the back of his tongue? Or was it a combination of the stresses he’d been under, the pressures of this hard life that only grew heavier as the years passed? 

The pressures that had lifted for one glorious moment by the firm touch and silver voice of a stranger.

Maybe Ignis was right. Maybe he _was_ losing it.

“Where are you?” Gladio whispered to the falling drifts that would never make it to the dirty streets below. 

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” a voice called over the racing of Gladio’s thoughts. Gladio jerked away from the railing, spinning on his heel with wide eyes. 

There, standing against the bar with a drink in hand, was the very man who had driven Gladio to distraction for the past two weeks. “Prompto!” he breathed, shocked. He hadn’t sensed him at _all._

Prompto’s lips twitched beneath wary eyes, just as stunning as Gladio remembered in another form fitting suit, a large fur coat draped over his shoulders and his gatling strapped to his side. One polished shoe tapped lightly against the ground. “You remembered my name. I’m flattered.” 

Gladio’s brows rose up his forehead. “Of course I remember your name. You saved my life! You–” _have been visiting my dreams._ Gladio cut himself off at the last second, biting his lip to keep the soul-baring words from surfacing. But he could do nothing about the flush making its way up his chest and neck, nor the way his heart pounded against the cage of his ribs. 

If Prompto noticed, he didn't comment, impossible blues drifting demurely to the side as he sipped at his drink. “You’ve been looking for me,” he stated quietly, contemplating the amber liquid in his hand.

“Yeah,” Gladio husked, distracted by his profile. He wished he could get closer, but something in the other man’s body language held him back, as if Prompto would bolt if he so much as lifted a heel.

Prompto peered at him from beneath wheat lashes. “Why?” 

“I wanted to see you again.” There was no point in hiding it, and Gladio had zero intention of being coy. He eased back against the railing, the rusted metal like ice against his lower back, and resigned himself to wait. The last thing he wanted was to spook the skittish man and possibly miss his chance to talk with him again. 

Prompto considered Gladio’s reclined form and Gladio felt it like a physical caress against his chest, relaxing involuntarily as it handily wiped away the memory of unwanted gazes. He couldn’t help but preen beneath the attention, even if he couldn’t quite read the guarded expression on his counterpart’s face. “Why?” Prompto repeated, voice a little stronger, a little more sure.

“Because…” Gladio cast about for a reason that wouldn’t send his new acquaintance running for the hills, very much aware of the creepy nature of his obsession. “Because you promised me a drink.” 

At this Prompto did smile, teeth glinting in the wan light. Gladio shivered, remembering the dream he’d had that morning, of those same pearly teeth against his pulse. “Looks like you already have a drink,” he teased, gesturing to the bottle in his hand. Gladio grunted, not the least bit dissuaded, setting the bottle aside with a grimace. 

“I think I can do better.” Cautiously, he walked slowly forward. Prompto tensed but did not move away as Gladio approached. Heart racing in his chest, Gladio’s nostrils flared as he stepped into Prompto’s space, the mysterious man’s comforting scent just as dizzying as he remembered, somehow achingly familiar despite the fact that he’d only ever experienced it the once. Prompto inhaled sharply as Gladio rested his hand over Prompto’s smaller one, guiding the glass towards himself and taking a slow sip. 

_“Oh,”_ Prompto breathed, bright lashes shuttering with desire as Gladio’s fingers slid down his wrist, allowing Prompto to tip the glass on his own. Prompto watched rapturously as Gladio finished what he gave him, throat working around the burn. When the glass was empty, Prompto seemed reluctant to take it away, rolling it against Gladio’s parted lips and blinking rapidly as Gladio’s tongue snaked out to capture the last bead of amber from its rim. 

Already dizzy from the alcohol he’d imbibed earlier that night, a low rumble started in Gladio’s chest without his leave, the warmth of Prompto’s obvious desire just as inebriating as the liquor now sloshing hotly in his stomach. Something dark passed over Prompto’s eyes as he exhaled slowly, leaning just the slightest bit forward to drag the cool glass over Gladio’s chin, his neck, his chest. Gladio was so cold, he could barely feel it. “What are you doing?” Prompto whispered, and Gladio couldn’t tell if he was talking to him or to himself. 

Gladio didn’t dare answer, but Prompto’s own words seemed to snap the man out of whatever wonderful mood he’d been in, blues widening with alarm and then all too familiar shame. He set the glass down sharply on the bar and stepped away, turning his back. Gladio rocked in place, bereft as the warmth between them abruptly vanished. He blinked after the blond in bewilderment, the sting of yet another rejection tightening his throat. 

“I-I’m sorry, that was...I shouldn’t have…” Prompto stuttered, once again diminished for no reason that Gladio could discern. “I shouldn’t _be_ here.” 

“Why shouldn’t you?” Gladio said, trying not to snarl the words between clenched teeth. His emotions tumbled inside of him, somehow feeling frustratingingly unfulfilled. It was as if he’d gotten a taste of clarity for only an instant, only to have it ripped away and lay him to waste in his spinning head. 

Prompto’s sharp shoulders were a stiff line of tension between them. “Trust me, big guy. You don’t want me to go any further than this.”

Gladio pinched his brow, leaning heavily on the bar as the ground wobbled. “Don’t _I_ get to decide that?” he snapped, this time unable to hold back his censure. 

Prompto chuckled darkly, glancing over. “You have no idea what you’re asking of me…” He paused, turning around fully. “Are you alright?” 

_“No,_ I’m not fucking alright!” Gladio shouted, his head pounding nauseatingly. “Why did you even _come_ here if you were just going to reject me? You can’t just–” he groaned, clutching his middle. Fuck. How much had he had to drink? He'd lost track...Gladio sank down to the ground, back thudding against the low wall.

“I’m not– I didn’t mean to–” Prompto said, dismayed as he crouched in front of Gladio. “Amicitia, are you–”

“It’s _Gladio,”_ Gladio demanded. “If you're going to do _that,_ if you’re going to _look_ at me that way, you can damn well use my first name.” 

“Gladio,” Prompto relented, concern radiating from every pore. His hands lifted as if to touch, pausing to hover before he could breach the final few inches between them. “Are you sick? Do you need–” 

“Don’t.” Prompto’s hand stopped dead in the air, his blue eyes filling with hurt. Gladio couldn’t bear it. “Don’t be kind to me if you don’t mean it. Why did you come here?” All he’d wanted for the past weeks was to see this man again, to regain the feeling of comfort and safety he’d never before experienced in his life, not...this. If he was just going to reject him, Gladio wished he’d never come. This was cruel. 

Prompto rocked back on his heels, bowing beneath the weight of Gladio’s gaze. He looked small again, sinking into himself. “I was worried.” Gladio didn’t know what to say to that, so he didn’t say anything, frown deepening on his face. Prompto didn’t look at him. “You nearly died when we met. I couldn’t just...forget. So I made sure you weren't alone again, at least until I could confirm the danger had passed…” 

Gladio’s brows lifted in disbelief, thrown. “You were watching me.” 

Prompto’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “N-No I– Well, yes, sometimes, but only when I knew you wouldn’t be with your partner–”

“You know my schedule,” Gladio said faintly, a flicker of something like hope lighting in the emptiness of his chest. Perhaps this obsession of his wasn’t as one sided as he’d thought.

“I– mm, yeah, kinda?” Prompto had both of his hands clutched around the back of his neck, freckles standing out starkly against his golden skin as he flushed. “Look, I just–I was really worried you’d be attacked again!” He continued to ramble but Gladio was no longer listening. 

Was _that_ the reason why he’d occasionally catch Prompto’s singular scent, what he’d thought only his imagination the lingering presence his self-appointed guardian left behind? Why he couldn’t possibly think of anything but Prompto because Prompto _had never left?_

“–and I know it’s super creepy and I’m _sorry,_ but–”

“Thank you,” Gladio said, shutting off the nervous rant. Prompto jerked upright.

 _“Thank_ you? For stalking you?” 

Gladio nodded, then shook his head. Okay, the stalking part was a little strange, but could Gladio say he wouldn’t do the same were their positions reversed? After a moment of thought, he decided that he actually _would_ have done differently; he wouldn’t have hidden himself from Prompto in the first place. But that wasn’t quite the point he was trying to make. “Thank you for protecting me.” Suddenly he remembered the owl that he could sometimes see peeking out from the building opposite his room, and realized with a hot flush that that nook was easily large enough for a full grown man, were one so inclined to scale the wall.

The memory of that morning, of how terribly exposed he’d been, how desperately he’d indulged in a half-baked fantasy, had Gladio shuddering beneath the burn of imaginary eyes. Perhaps they hadn’t been so imaginary after all. 

Shaking it off as unimportant for now, he looked Prompto’s shocked face up and down. “You’ve been keeping me safe. You _want_ me.” Prompto’s eyes flickered away, but this time Gladio wouldn’t let him evade. “If that’s the case, then why do you keep rejecting me? I want you, too. I’ve never wanted anyone _more.”_

The blond man bit his lip, knees falling to the ground so that he could rest against his heels. His expression twisted between wonder, desire, and dread. “Yes,” he rasped, “Yes, I want you. But you have no idea what you’re asking for. I’m not your type, trust me. You’ll regret me before the end.” 

Gladio reared back in disbelief, all of the anger and frustration of the past year boiling out of him at once. He was so furious he could barely force his voice to work, gravel rending the air like lightning on the mountainside. “How the _fuck_ do you know what my type is? How could you _possibly_ know what I desire? It’s funny how no one ever asks me what _I_ want before they assume my heart!” Prompto rocked back as if struck, mouth falling open, but Gladio didn’t let him say a word. “Is it because of the way I look? My _name?”_ He assumed a sarcastic, cutting cadence, “Oh, _Amicitia,_ with his strength and magic and _power,_ I bet he’s a monster in bed, I bet he’ll take _good_ care of me, I bet if I _submit_ he’ll give me some of those _riches_ I’ve heard of. Oh, _Amicitia,_ he’s a Reaver you know, they're prone to _violence,_ better not cross him. Oh, I’ve heard of _him_ , he’s good for a _fun time_ , lets _anyone_ take a ride–”

“Stop,” Prompto pleaded softly, sadly, and Gladio choked, clenching his eyes. He wanted to continue, to press just how hurt he was by how he’d been treated by Prompto, _by everyone._ More so than even he had realized. But his voice wouldn’t obey him. To his utter humiliation, moisture burned at the back of his eyelids, trapped behind the faltering will of his pride. He felt sick. 

Warm hands slid over his face to cup his clenched jaw, thumbs wicking away the tears he couldn’t contain. Gladio flinched, surprised at the unexpected touch. “Oh, Gladio. When was the last time you ate?” 

“I don’t remember,” Gladio rasped, trembling. Despite himself, his muscles relaxed beneath gentle fingers, and he made a mournful sound as they retreated from his skin, too damn tired to feel an ounce of shame for showing weakness. Prompto hushed him, the touch of one hand returning with the pressure of something cool and smooth against Gladio’s lips. 

Gladio opened his mouth obediently and was startled when he bit down, a burst of unexpected sweetness coating his tongue. His eyes flickered open, finding Prompto’s concerned visage just inches away. “What is…” he mumbled around the cool morsel in his mouth. 

“It's an ulwaat berry,” Prompto said with a faint smile, relieved to see that Gladio had calmed down. “I have a friend who grows them.” 

Gladio didn’t have the energy to consider what it meant to have a friend where green things grew, so he just nodded and swallowed, the sugar sending a small prickle of energy through his drained system. “I’m sorry,” Prompto said gently as he slipped another berry into Gladio’s mouth. “I, of all people, should know better than to assume what others want and need.” 

Gladio just shook his head, ashamed of his outburst. His personal issues weren’t Prompto’s problem. Prompto was worried about him. Fine. He was a good guy, and yeah, maybe he wanted Gladio physically but didn't want to deal with the mess he came with. That was fair. Gladio could get over it. He would endure as he always did. He would. 

“So eager…” Prompto whispered under his breath, almost as if he didn’t expect Gladio to hear him. “So eager to give yourself away to me. This is not…I...” he trailed off, then, raising his voice a little, “How do you want me?” 

Gladio blinked, unsure he heard correctly. Looking up warily, he met Prompto’s serious eyes and swallowed thickly around the sweetness. “What?” 

“You said you want me. _How_ do you want me? What do you want _from_ me?”

“I want…” Gladio paused, brows drawing together. “No one has ever asked me that.”

“Maybe it’s time someone did,” Prompto said with more compassion than Gladio felt he deserved, wiping away another fleck of moisture. Gladio shuddered, capturing the hand, almost scalding hot against his frigid fingers. With a small frown at Gladio’s pale skin, Prompto removed the fur coat from his back and smoothed it over Gladio’s shivering form, engulfing him in the heady scent of sunshine. Gladio’s tense muscles relaxed, his body deflating like the gentle fall of silk against the floor, leaving nothing but a puddle of a man behind.

“I want _this,”_ Gladio rumbled, unable to meet his eyes, shame burning his cheeks as he put voice to the desires he only just started to realize he had. “I want...to be held. And protected.” Prompto’s hand twitched, but Gladio’s fingers only tightened, unsure what he would do if Prompto rejected him again. Was this what he’d wanted from Aranea all along? Was this why he felt so adrift whenever he was with her? All that power she held...he hadn’t wanted her to give it up to him. He’d wanted her to be strong _for_ him. He got it now; why she’d left. They really were too similar. “It’s always me who’s providing. _I’m_ the strong one…but I don’t always feel strong. I…don’t want to _have_ to…” He felt like a kid in that moment more than he had in years, before he’d grown into his height and very rarely had cause to look up. He looked up now, beneath Prompto’s steady, wondering gaze, and he felt… “Safe. I...”

Prompto let out a gusty breath as Gladio fell silent, unable to say more. “Okay,” he said simply, running his fingers through Gladio’s hair, gently working out the tangles he hadn’t bothered with himself. 

Gladio blinked. “Okay?” 

“Yeah. Okay. What you want. I can give it to you.” Prompto’s smile, when the corner of his thin lips finally lifted, was hesitant. There was fear there, Gladio could see it in the pinch of his brows and the tremble of his jaw. But also hope. 

Gladio wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. “Just like that? You’ll go out with me?” 

Prompto seemed to steel himself. He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to Gladio’s, a light exhale ghosting between them and engulfing Gladio in a cloud of gentle mist. “Yeah, big guy. I’ll...I’ll try. But first, let’s get you fed, ‘kay? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

“Okay,” Gladio said, eyes fluttering closed to revel in their closeness with a small, disbelieving smile. As he exhaled, he gave himself utterly into Prompto’s capable hands, feeling like he would sleep well for the first time in weeks. 

[Art by @freosan!](https://twitter.com/freosan/status/1327673103686782977?s=09)

* * *

## Part 3

Gladio did not remember getting home, or leaving the club at all for that matter. 

The way back was a haze of fingers dancing soothingly across skin, the drunken sway of dark shadows and splitting neon light, and the sturdy pillar beneath his arm pulling him along like the inescapable tide. Gladio was too content to care.

When his eyes finally fluttered open to true awareness, it was to the soothing darks of his apartment and the familiar scent of home. He groaned, swaying in the doorway. 

“Hold on there, I got you buddy,” Prompto soothed, and Gladio realized belatedly that Prompto had not stopped talking to him the entire way home. 

Gladio rumbled low in his chest, taking control of himself at last and turning in Prompto’s supporting embrace. He ignored Prompto’s startled exclamation as he shuffled forward, pressing the smaller man against the closed door. “Buddy?” Gladio slurred, nestling his nose into the enticing crook of Prompto’s neck. His pulse beat steadily against Gladio’s lips and Gladio’s teeth ached as he inhaled the whole of him. “M’not your buddy. You. Yours.” 

Prompto’s disbelieving chuckle vibrated all the way down to Gladio’s toes. “You’re drunk. C’mon, big guy, to bed with you.” He pressed gently but unwaveringly against Gladio’s wide chest until there was space between them. Gladio held back a keen. 

“Not drunk,” Gladio insisted, trying to press forward again. He couldn’t get enough of the sweet, bright, dangerous scent coming off his knight in waves. “M’drunk on _you.”_

Prompto would not be dissuaded, though Gladio could easily detect the thickening of his pheromones, the subtle increase in his heart rate. The steady thrum went right through Gladio, his heart working to match. Rough hands pushed more insistently at his chest. “Gladio. The bed, now.” 

Ah, there. That was the voice. Gladio wanted to hear much, much more of that voice; dark, commanding and sure, with that beautiful understated _power._ Gladio blinked, dazed as he gazed at Prompto’s thin lips, licking his own as if he could suck the enticing sounds from the air with will alone. Prompto raised a brow, his hand creeping up Gladio’s neck and around the back of his scalp. Gladio snapped to attention immediately as Prompto’s gentle grip grew hard, winding through his hair and forcing him to look the smaller man in the eye. “I said,” Prompto husked. _“Now._ Don’t make me say it again.” 

“Yes,” Gladio gasped, a shudder shattering its way through him, more potent than any drug. His eyes blackened, he could feel it, magic pulsing in time with his frantic heartbeat. 

Prompto smiled then, his crystal blues softening with affection. “Good.” 

The journey to the bed was a blur of stumbling limbs and the shuffle of carpet under his–somehow bare–feet. He only came to when his back met the soft sheets of purest silk; his one indulgence in his admittedly spartan lifestyle. Momentarily distracted, his eyes rolled back in his head as he rubbed his frigid skin against the soothing cool. A low chuckle met his ear and Gladio smiled, reaching out until he could brush his hand against Prompto’s back. He felt languid, tired beyond belief. Yet heat shimmered insistently at the forefront of his consciousness to finally have Prompto here in his home, their scents mingling together in a heady cocktail. 

A low chuckle met his ears. “You know, when I followed you here the first time, I was shocked. An Amicitia living like a commoner?” The bed dipped beside him, the telltale clunk of Prompto’s gatling resting against the wall. Then, the rasp of calloused fingers over silk. “Hmm, these are nice, though.”

Gladio’s lips twitched, but couldn’t manage to open his heavy eyes. “Does a stalker have the right to judge how I live?”

Prompto laughed again and Gladio sighed as his heat washed over him. “This stalker is only judging how well his fascination takes care of himself.” A shift, then silk brushed over Gladio’s skin, the hand behind the sheets warming his cold flesh. Gladio forced his eyes open to stare up into Prompto’s face, desire trickling through him as he experienced the exact scenario that had him gasping awake that morning. Only this time, it was real. Prompto was _here,_ and he could…

Prompto let out a surprised grunt as Gladio surged up, pressing their lips together. He was not surprised for long, however, leaning into Gladio with a moan, pressing him down onto the bed with his surprisingly dense weight. Gladio hummed, reaching up to wind his fingers through Prompto’s short locks, pulling him closer insistently, taking control of the kiss to slide his tongue inside–

Prompto pulled back, fingers pressing into the pressure points in Gladio’s wrists; not quite painful, but unignorable. Gladio flinched, releasing him at once. He blinked up, shocked, at Prompto’s stern stare. “Not so fast, big guy. Don’t remember giving you permission to touch.” 

A flash of indignation and hurt had Gladio sobered and awake in an instant. Before he could pull away, however, Prompto softened, smiling at him gently and rubbing away the already faded sting in his wrists. He leaned down, placing a chaste kiss against the corner of Gladio’s lips. Humidity washed over Gladio’s ear as he said very clearly, darkly, “I’m in control.” 

A full body tremor worked its way through Gladio, a flush heating him more effectively than any fur coat ever could. Confusion floated through his muddled thoughts, but it was easy enough to relax beneath Prompto’s body that he didn’t give it too much thought. “I...alright?” 

“That’s it,” Prompto said as he pulled back to look down at Gladio, pleased. His hands tightened around Gladio’s wrists. Not hard enough to hurt or even begin to restrain Gladio’s superior strength. But enough to show that he meant business. Gladio wasn’t sure where to look. He flexed his fingers into the bedsheets before looking up questioningly. Prompto licked his lips as he felt it, clearly aroused, and the confusion got a little bit quieter. “These are mine now. Only I can control them. Do you understand?”

“...” Gladio worked his jaw, hesitating, brows drawing together. Prompto waited patiently for Gladio to make his choice. It occurred to Gladio then that it really _was_ a choice. There was nothing holding him down, his strength easily superior to Prompto’s. He could roll them over and take what he wanted and there would be little that could stop him. 

But...he didn't want to do that. And it was confusing, because no one had ever even tried to take control from him. He simply did not know what to do with himself if he couldn’t touch. 

He got the distinct feeling that it wouldn’t go over well with this man if he tried to take the control that Prompto so obviously desired. A sudden flash of fear–not that Prompto would hurt him, per se, but that he would leave immediately if he didn’t answer favorably–took hold of Gladio. 

He tensed. 

Instantly, Prompto released him, sitting up and moving away, concern in his eyes. Gladio made a dismayed sound, reaching up to pull him back. “No, wait, I–I just–” He looked in horror at his own hands before putting them deliberately back down onto the sheets beside him, shoulders hunching in on themselves as his stomach swooped nauseatingly.

“Oh, jeez, no, _I’m_ sorry,” Prompto said immediately, moving back to where he was. Gladio let out a sigh of relief when Prompto placed his hands back on his wrists, much more gently than before. “I didn’t explain this right.” He let out a derisive chuckle. “You really are inexperienced.” 

Gladio scowled, ready to protest, but Prompto shook his head. Nudging Gladio until he was sitting against his headboard, the slighter man scooched over until he sat beside him, a reassuring weight against his broad shoulder. Gladio relaxed. “Let me start over. Earlier, you said you wanted me to take care of you. That’s something I want as well. Thing is,” he rubbed at the back of his neck self-consciously and Gladio watched him carefully. “The thing is, I like to be in control. Totally. It takes a...ah. Certain kind of partner to allow that.” He looked at Gladio from the corner of his eye, expression filled with caution. 

Gladio nodded, though he wasn’t entirely sure he understood. “You want to top.” 

“Well. Not quite. Yes? Listen, it doesn’t much matter to me what positions we try, who penetrates, any of that. What I want is.” He made a frustrated noise, and Gladio scented the slight odor of fear coming from the other man. His eyes widened, and for the second time in as many minutes he was afraid Prompto would bolt. Prompto paused, sensing his tension. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not going anywhere. At least, not until I explain. Then you can tell me to leave and I will without question, I promise.” 

“I’m not going to do that,” Gladio snapped, a note of frustration lacing his voice now. He wished Prompto would stop dancing around the subject and hinting he was some sort of monster or something. His tone came out rougher than he intended and he forced himself to relax again. “Tell me.” 

Prompto took a deep breath. Then another. He looked Gladio squarely in the eye. “I want to dominate you. I want you to give yourself to me; your body, your pleasure, even your thoughts when we’re together. I want them to be _mine._ ” 

Silence fell heavy between them.

Gladio struggled to absorb that loaded statement. He wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t know quite what he was expecting, but...it wasn’t that. Prompto may have looked calm, but Gladio could smell his fear, could feel the quick thrumming of his blood as he waited for Gladio’s judgement. Despite how out of depth Gladio felt, he knew he had to say something. “That’s why you kept pulling away?” he tried.

Prompto let out a self deprecating laugh. “Well, it isn’t every day when a man my size, looking like I do, wants what I want from big strong guys like you.”

“Looking like you do…” Gladio said slowly. He glanced Prompto up and down, from his slim waist to his sharp features; not quite delicate, but not exactly masculine either. Still, he felt it was a bit of an unfair assessment when Gladio had desired something similar from Aranea, even if he hadn’t known it at the time. 

But it was his hopelessly frustrated tone that Gladio felt like a distant, deep note in his heart, echoing through his head and tingling all the way down his limbs. He _understood._ For the first time, it felt like he was on the exact same wavelength as someone else as Prompto put to voice exactly what he’d been feeling for far too long. Prompto was just like him, forced into a role beneath the expectations of others. Because of the way he looked. Sounded. “You’ve been rejected before.” 

Prompto nodded bitterly before giving Gladio a wry smile. “Yeah. You have no idea what a rare creature you are, Amicitia. Gladio.” He lifted a hand to brush against Gladio’s face, but hovered just inches away as if his touch wouldn’t be welcome. “So strong. So beautiful. You respond so willingly…” His breath hitched as Gladio leaned into his touch, rubbing his face against Prompto’s palm. “You have no idea what you do to me…” 

“But you don’t think I can give you what you want?” Gladio said slowly, then considered it. _Could_ he give up control entirely as Prompto desired? It went against everything he was used to. But he found that he wasn’t entirely opposed to the concept. Far from it.

“Can you?” Prompto echoed his thoughts, brows lowering into a sharp V over his nose. 

Gladio was just as serious when he responded. “I can try.” 

Prompto rubbed a thumb beneath one of Gladio’s eyes. His expression eased as Gladio failed to throw him out, and brightening at his willingness to give it a shot. “You’re amazing,” he breathed, and Gladio warmed at the praise, allowing his own smile to ghost across his lips. “Do you want to try again?” 

“Yeah,” Gladio said immediately. Now that he was a little more aware of what to expect, his trepidations from earlier evaporated somewhat, leaving him buzzing in his skin with anticipation. 

“Okay.” Prompto took both of Gladio’s hands in his slighter ones and placed a kiss reverently against the broad peaks of his knuckles. Gladio flushed, breath catching in his throat at the warm press of thin lips. “I am in control. These belong to me and only I can move them. Do you understand?” 

Gladio’s voice was rough when he was finally able to form words. “Yes.” 

Prompto’s hum vibrated against their linked hands. “Good.” He placed Gladio’s hands next to his hips against the sheets, running his palms soothingly up Gladio’s arms and down until Gladio relaxed. “For this time, all you have to do is say ‘stop’ and this stops, no questions asked. Can you do that for me?” 

Gladio sincerely doubted Prompto was going to do anything he couldn’t handle, but the way Prompto was looking at him so earnestly made him decide not to argue the point. “Yes.” 

Prompto flashed a grin before kissing Gladio roughly and pulling back just as quickly, leaving him dazed. “Don’t move.” 

Gladio blinked in bewilderment and unfulfilled desire as Prompto stood and...left the room. He floundered for a moment, unsure what the hell just happened. Did he just _bail?_ After all of that? He could hear the other man puttering around his apartment, so at least he hadn’t left yet, but Gladio was seconds away from jumping up and chasing after him if he so much as heard footsteps head for the door. 

Instead, to Galido’s utter confusion, he heard his fridge open, Prompto’s low muttering barely audible as he cursed Gladio’s lacking stock. Was he getting something to _eat?_ Now? Gladio glanced down at his hands which he’d been explicitly told not to move and watched his fingers twitch against the sheets. He glared back at the door. What the fuck?

Gladio debated whether to call this whole thing off and launch himself after the duplicitous man for a full agonizing minute before Prompto strode back into the room abruptly. When he caught sight of Gladio precisely where he left him, he smiled in delight, white teeth flashing in the dim. “You really need to go shopping,” he said lightly, sitting on the bed before crawling over Gladio’s sprawled legs to straddle them. “Now, open up!” 

Gladio could only raise his brows before Prompto pressed whatever he’d gone to get against Gladio’s slightly parted lips. The smell of ham and cheese wafted under his nose and Gladio realized that Prompto had left to _make him a sandwich_.

“Eat,” Prompto commanded, amused, before pressing more insistently against Gladio’s lips. 

Gladio opened his mouth to protest–seriously?–and Prompto took advantage, shoving the morsel into his mouth much as he’d done on the rooftop. 

“Are you _feeding me_ right now?” Gladio asked redundantly around the food in his mouth, indignant. He lifted his hand to push the second bit of sandwich from his face, but a strong grip on his wrist stopped his movement, pressing it right back down onto the bed. 

“Mine, remember,” Prompto reprimanded, tone light but brokering no argument. Gladio swallowed, relaxing his hands again. “And yes, I’m feeding you. Usually I do this afterwards, but you look like death. Now eat, and you just might get something good.” 

Gladio wanted to protest more, but his stomach chose that moment to let out an almighty rumble, mouth watering as his body finally registered _food._ Subsiding, Gladio obediently took the next bite into his mouth, and every bite afterwards. It was terribly bland, but his starved body didn’t seem to care, each bite taken more eagerly than the last. Prompto watched rapturously as Gladio ate from his hands, a pleased flush lingering on his cheeks, and that more than made up for the strangeness of the situation. Gladio could get used to this if it got the man to look at him like _that_. 

While the task wasn’t innately sexual, Gladio found that he didn't mind much, a fugue of security making him languid beneath Prompto’s steady weight on his legs. His arms felt heavy at his sides and he gave no more thought to moving them. He wondered if Prompto’s promise to ‘stop’ extended to moments like these…

When Prompto finally seemed to run out of food to press between Gladio’s teeth, his thumb lingered on Gladio’s mouth, watching his throat work around the final bite. “Perfect,” he breathed, rubbing the chapped lower lip. 

“What’s my reward?” Gladio rumbled, almost too sleepy to even ask, but he’d been waiting patiently for Prompto to finish his unexpected fussing to get back to _whatever_ it was he’d had in mind. 

“Hmm. Well, I did promise…” Prompto drawled, and Gladio growled, half a mind to throw the insufferable man from his lap. If he wasn’t so afraid of the upset earlier happening again, he might have. As it was, his prodigious temper did not make an appearance as he thought it would, his body too content after finally getting what it needed to raise his ire too much. Besides, Prompto was here after what felt like a lifetime of a yearning he couldn’t explain, and dammit, Gladio was not going to mess this up.

Prompto’s teasing laughter was starting to become familiar, but it seemed that he was finally done stalling. He leaned forward, hands once again on Gladio’s wrists as a brief, clear reminder of his concession, before he pressed his lips against Gladio’s mouth, his jaw, his shoulder, pausing there for a short moment to drag his blunt teeth against Gladio’s delicate collarbone. 

Gladio shivered, his fingers immediately clenching in an effort not to reach up and grab. He sighed instead, letting his head thunk against his headboard and let Prompto do what he wanted. He could feel Prompto’s smile against his skin as he worked his way down. Gladio’s blood heated, hips squirming in their confines. Prompto took the hint, sure hands working Gladio’s zipper down and the tight leather over his hips with steady tugs. Completely naked now, Gladio eased against the silky sheets. Prompto worked his way back up his body with licks and nips that Gladio could feel in his _soul_ until he was hovering over him.

Gladio’s eyes widened and his breath caught. For the first time in probably his entire life, Gladio was acutely aware of how naked he was. He was by no means a shy man; confident in every inch of his form and unashamed of the gazes of others. But this man smiling down at him, completely clothed in his form hugging suit, his presence larger than life and devouring Gladio with his gaze...Gladio felt every inch of his own uncovered skin as if Prompto was touching all of him at once–from they way his attention lingered over his inked skin to the way his gaze almost physically caught over his peaked nipple, the line of his jaw, the definition of his core. Gladio’s exposed dick jumped against his hip the moment that heated gaze passed over it, fully hard without his notice. 

Suddenly self-conscious as he’d never been before, Gladio had to look away, wanting more than anything to break the moment, do _something_. But that’s not what he agreed to. Prompto didn’t make him wait for long, thank fuck, the man humming in pleasure as he lifted a hand and dragged it down Gladio’s body, from sternum to hip, pointedly ignoring his cock in favor of rubbing his muscled thigh. “Beautiful,” Prompto praised with a fever bright hunger. 

Prompto’s slim hands wandered around his hips, dragging over his lower belly until they rested against his pelvis on either side of his aching need. Hard thumbs dug into the joint where thigh meets groin, teasing between his legs and rising goosebumps over the sensitive skin. Gladio’s hips shifted, a low growl starting in his chest and rippling outwards. He narrowed his eyes, impatient, nails digging into the bed beneath him. Prompto paused, seeming to wait for something. Gladio wasn’t sure what that something was, and his patience was at an end. “Prompto…”

Promtpo’s gaze flickered between Gladio’s eyes, flashing with some emotion Gladio couldn’t discern, before he finally decided that he was done teasing. With an impish grin, Prompto dipped down and took Gladio into his mouth in one blistering slide. 

Gladio shouted, thoroughly surprised at the sudden introduction of wet heat, lust erupting in him so quickly he choked on it. He bucked, but Prompto’s hands against his pelvis didn’t allow him to move as the man immediately began bobbing his head, taking Gladio in until he could go no further before sliding him all the way back out. He repeated the process again and again until Gladio saw _stars_. 

Gladio cursed into the air and shook, shocked from the sudden attention after what felt like weeks of hot and cold, excitement and disappointment. His arms were lead weights at his sides, as if cinder blocks held them in place. His mind blanked, feeling nothing, seeing nothing but Prompto and the spots in his eyes as the man worked him over with expert ease, glancing up every so often to take in the wreckage that was Gladio’s face. 

Prompto sank all the way down and stayed there for several seconds, watching Gladio beneath lowered lashes. His short facial hair tickled against Gladio’s clenched balls, heedless of the mess he was making of himself as spit and precome slipped from his lips to soak the bedsheets below. He swallowed once, twice, and Gladio forgot how to breathe altogether at the hot clutch, the obscene noises around his girth. His thighs shook as he put everything he had into holding himself back, the sensations more intense than he could have expected, because right now he couldn’t focus on anyone else’s pleasure but his own. Prompto had taken that from him, and–

And with a sharp stab of anxiety, Gladio didn't know how to handle it. Shaking with effort and eyes glazing over, Gladio’s thoughts dove into a downward spiral, out of his control.

Did Prompto intend to get him off so soon? This sure as hell didn’t feel like foreplay, unless Prompto vastly overestimated his endurance. He hadn’t moved. Done anything. And this was already almost over.

In his muddled thoughts, the only thing he could think was _‘what do I do?’_ because he couldn’t just be allowed to lay there and _take it_. It just wasn’t how sex worked for him, not ever. His fingers twitched, but he couldn’t move his hands. They didn’t belong to him. 

Prompto must have sensed Gladio’s tension, because he lifted himself off with a filthy sound and crawled up Gladio’s body, replacing his mouth with a warm hand slicked with spit. Though he was smaller, he seemed to surround Gladio in that moment, his clothed chest brushing tinglingly over Gladio’s bare skin. It was strange, because usually Gladio hated the feeling of clothing against his chest. But wrapped around Prompto, the man could have been wearing burlap and Gladio would have adored it. “It’s alright. You’re perfect.”

Gladio jerked into his hand with a strangled moan, heat building in his groin inescapably fast. He was going to come before they even really got started and it felt _wrong_ , as if he were failing somehow. Was Prompto even hard? He couldn’t tell, senses muffled, overwhelmed. “I–I–what do I–” He felt terribly young then, as if this was his first time; fumbling and unsure. The _last_ thing he wanted was for Prompto to be unsatisfied, but this was so different from what he’d ever experienced that he had no idea what Prompto actually got out of this. Gladio wasn’t _doing_ anything…

Prompto shushed him with a soft, damp kiss, working him faster, dragging his orgasm closer and closer whether Gladio’s burning need to reciprocate allowed it or not. Gladio gasped for air, every muscle in his body clenched and twitching as he tried and failed to hold himself back. He gazed unseeing into Prompto’s wondering eyes, on the knife’s edge of his shattering control. He clung to that edge with all his strength, the unbearable pressure and heat pulsing low in his abdomen and getting hotter, but he was _convinced_ that this couldn’t be what Prompto wanted–

“Shhh, it’s okay. You don’t have to do anything. Just come for me, that’s it. That’s all I want.” 

It seemed that permission was the final thing that Gladio’s treacherous body needed, betraying him almost immediately. He shouted as an abrupt orgasm blinded him with its intensity as he finally spilled over Prompto’s hand. Prompto gasped, swallowing Gladio’s voice with his mouth, shoving his tongue inside Gladio’s slack jaw as if he could steal the breath right out of him. Gladio twitched with sensitivity as Prompto licked over his extended fangs, mapping the differences between them with a reverence that Gladio could hardly understand.

Gladio’s head spun as he came down, taking much, much longer than usual. He felt vulnerable, raw and utterly spent as Prompto released his cock and ran his hands over every inch of him, pressing incomprehensible praises and reverent kisses wherever he could. Gladio’s eyelids were impossibly heavy as the day finally caught up with him, dragging them down, down until it was a monumental effort to lift them at all. This wasn’t right. It wasn’t over. He wasn’t allowed to be selfish like this–but he could do little about the way he was drifting further and further from himself as his body completely unwound.

“Prom…” he started, only for a soft kiss to silence him. 

“You did beautifully. Thank you,” Prompto said fervently, like a prayer. 

“But…” a sliver of panic had his eyes fluttering and his fingers twitching. He couldn’t bring himself to move them still, but he had to...had to give back…

Again, Prompto seemed to read his mind. He grabbed Gladio’s wrists and did what Gladio found impossible, moving them around and rubbing them until they felt like a part of Gladio again. Gladio blinked up at him blearily, mind adrift in exhaustion. 

“It’s okay, big guy. You gave me _exactly_ what I wanted. Sleep. I’ll be here in the morning, I promise.” He sounded so fond, so sure, that Gladio was finally able to relax. 

“You better be,” he pleaded more than the threat he intended, eyes already closed and refusing to open again. He didn’t hear Prompto’s soft response, the world fading into nothing as his body finally gave out. Unease still lingered in his mind, but contentment overrode it, dragging him inexorably into restful, dreamless sleep.

* * *

Gladio’s eyes fluttered open. He breathed in sharply, his senses muddled and groggy as he blinked the spots from his vision. He was in his apartment, late afternoon light filtering through dustmotes from the open window like gems against the grey. The scents of sweat, sunshine and _sex_ wafted in his nose as he inhaled deeply, tasting it in the air with a deep rumble. His voice was answered muzzily by another’s sleepy groan and Gladio felt a rush of pure adulation and pleasure as he realized that indeed, he was not alone. His arms tightened around Prompto’s slim form, the man huffing in his sleep but not truly waking. 

He’d stayed. Prompto had stayed, just as he promised. Gladio nuzzled into his chest, just taking a moment to marvel. His instincts were quiet. His discontentment was soothed. Gladio felt looser and more relaxed than he had in an age. 

Carefully, he shifted up on the bed, hovering over Prompto’s inert form, and gazed down at his slumbering companion. For the first time since they’d met, Gladio saw Prompto in the light of day. Prompto’s sharp features were smoothed in sleep, his skin gleaming lightly in the dim, freckles standing out starkly on his nose and cheeks. He was more golden than anyone Gladio had ever seen in the undercity, exotic and warm as if he’d spent every day close to the sun. Carefully, he ran a finger over Prompto’s long nose, his thin, barely parted lips, his sharp chin and down his smooth neck. He’d shed his coat sometime in the night, dress shirt rumpled and exposing the collarbone. Like this, he seemed so delicate–vulnerable–though Gladio knew he was anything but. Gladio’s protective instincts flared and he did nothing to soothe them, letting the sensation wash over him in a gentle tide of affection. 

Gladio’s wandering fingers paused, eyes lingering hungrily at the apex of Prompto’s neck. His teeth throbbed and his mouth parted, canines extending slowly without his notice. 

So smooth...unmarked. Gladio wanted….

Gladio’s mouth watered as his vision edged with red, his magic shifting restlessly. He swallowed roughly around the possessive growl that threatened to rip from his throat, thoughts scattering from his mind as he leaned down, grazing his lips over Prompto’s warm skin. 

_Do it, do it, do it,_ his instincts chanted and Gladio thought, why not? It felt like a good idea. It felt _right._

Prompto’s voice vibrated against his lips as he stirred with a hum, arching into Gladio’s hovering form. Gladio just barely held back the powerful urge to sink his teeth home, saliva slipping from between his lips unheeded, connecting him to the skin he wanted to claim with a delicate string of desire. But he couldn’t. He _couldn’t…_

“Hm, Gladio?” Prompto sighed and opened his eyes, blinking blurrily. He made a questioning sound as Gladio didn’t respond, nudging at Gladio’s chest until Gladio finally brought himself to tear his blackened gaze from the temping stretch of his new lover’s neck. 

Prompto’s eyes widened with alarm just as Gladio’s instincts screamed at him to do it NOW, _before he could escape–_

“Gladio!” A shout came from the doorway and the startled Reaver reacted immediately, jerking around on the bed to face the door with a guttural roar. Prompto let out an undignified yelp as Gladio crouched over him heavily to shield him from the threat. 

Before Gladio could discern who had dared to trespass, there was a blur of movement and Gladio howled as he was tackled to the floor, a solid weight collapsing onto his chest to pin him to the frigid tile. Gladio began to struggle, but stilled instantly at a warning hiss and the press of cold steel against his jugular. Breath’s heaving in his chest, Gladio battled with the sharp compulsion to fight, rip, tear apart the one who stood between him and his–

“Gladio! Calm down this instant!” Ignis’ enraged hiss finally made it through to Gladio. Gladio gasped, blinking rapidly as the red receded from his vision, senses scattering to the wind. Ignis’ skin rippled with scales, acid greens dripping with anger and venom. They glowed slightly with the magic Ignis just barely held back, and that, more than anything, calmed Gladio down. He’d been on the other end of Ignis’ cruel illusion magic before. There was no way he ever wanted to experience it again. 

“Ignis…?” 

At Gladio’s tentative voice, Ignis’ eyes softened and returned to their warm hazel, even if the anger did not leave them. 

“Get away from him,” Prompto said, the demand punctuated with the click of his gun against the base of Ignis’ spine. Ignis tensed, but didn't dare release Gladio, who still hadn’t regained his senses. Gladio growled, confused and disoriented, blood screaming _danger,_ but mind recognizing his friends.

“If I release him, he will kill us both,” Ignis said tightly, not even glancing at Prompto’s furious face. “Now back. Away. I will get him under control because I am his partner. It’s _my_ place and _no one else’s.”_

The stalemate held for several long moments in which Gladio struggled to breathe, more confused than ever as his partner was threatened. He wanted to protect Prompto. He wanted to protect Ignis. He wanted to tear them both apart. Dark spots danced in his eyes as his magic lashed in his chest, blocking his airways more surely than the threat of Ignis’ blade. 

Finally, Prompto backed off, setting his gun carefully to the side and holding his hands up in defeat. “Alright,” he said softly, watching Gladio carefully with concern and confusion in equal measures. 

Ignis slowly lifted his blade, ending the threat, and Gladio was able to breathe a little easier. “Gladio, can you understand me?” 

“Yes,” Gladio rasped, the word barely recognizable beneath the gravel. 

“Can I release you now? Or do you need restraints?” 

Gladio inhaled deeply, mind falling into his training even as his body rebelled. Repress. _Control._ “...No. I’m alright.” 

Ignis nodded slowly before getting carefully to his feet and extending his hand for Gladio to take. After a few more deep inhales of Ignis’ familiar, soothing scent, Gladio took it, getting up on wobbly legs. He met Ignis’ eyes, his own brimming with gratitude. Ignis acknowledged it only with a small nod before turning to Prompto, allowing Gladio to regain his composure.

“So. You are the one who saved Gladio that night.” 

Prompto, who still stood cautiously against the wall, nodded. “Yeah. I guess I am.” He asked Gladio gently, “Are you alright?” 

Gladio couldn't look at him, shame working its way up his neck and horror at what he’d almost done burning behind his tongue. He’d never lost control like that. Never. He’d almost…

“I would be more concerned about yourself,” Ignis said coldly, stepping between them. Prompto scowled, but Gladio couldn’t tell if he felt grateful for Ignis’ protectiveness or condescended. He settled on grateful, hunching over himself and willing his canines and errant magic to recede. 

“Is that a threat, Scentia?” Prompto said softly. 

“A warning,” Ignis responded just as quietly, deadly. “You have no idea what you are doing to him.” 

Prompto’s eyes narrowed. “Enlighten me.” 

“Ignis,” Gladio rasped. 

Ignis didn’t say anything for a long moment, registering the panic in the set of Gladio’s shoulders with a critical eye. “I would like to speak to my partner. Alone.” 

Prompto didn’t even acknowledge Ignis. Gladio forced himself to meet his gaze. 

“Alright,” Prompto finally decided. “Should I leave?” 

“NO!” Gladio gasped at the same time as Ignis said, “That would be best.” 

Prompto frowned between them, but his answer was for Gladio alone. “Okay. I’ll be in the kitchen. Find me when you’re done.” 

Gladio deflated, and as the door shut softly behind Prompto’s retreating form, he was comforted as he went exactly where he said he would, footsteps sounding softly against tile. As soon as he was out of earshot, Ignis rounded on Gladio with a hiss, jabbing him in the chest. Gladio stumbled back onto the bed with an _oomph,_ shell-shocked legs giving out on him. 

“ _‘I’m not going into blood fever, Ignis. He’s not my mate, Ignis,_ ’” his partner snarled sarcastically, throwing Gladio’s words right back in his face. Gladio grimaced, opening his mouth to protest. “No. I don’t want to hear it, Amicitia.” Ignis grabbed his shoulder, sharp nails digging into Gladio’s skin. With a flush, Gladio realized he was still naked, the marks Prompto had left on him in full display. Ignis’ nostrils flared, thin lips curling in anger. “You barely know him!” 

“I know that!” Gladio snarled, defensive. 

“Then what the _fuck_ was that? Do you have any idea what you nearly did?” 

“Of course I know! _I’m_ the Reaver here, not you!” 

“Then tell me, _Reaver,_ why you nearly bound yourself to a _complete stranger!_ Without his consent, no less! What were you _thinking?_ ” 

“I don’t know!” Gladio shouted abruptly, startlingly loud against the hushed tones they’d been using thus far. With a monumental effort, he lowered his voice again. “I wasn’t thinking. It just. Felt right!” 

Ignis scanned him from vulnerable eyes to shaking shoulders to his bare body and back again. With a heavy sigh, Ignis sat beside him and wrapped his rumpled sheets around him, soft and familiar. But it hardly helped, the young Reaver more shaken than he’d ever been. 

“...You do realize he’s Human, right?” 

Gladio swallowed. It wasn’t like he hadn’t noticed that Prompto didn’t have a secondary nature. He just hadn’t wanted to acknowledge it. “Yes.” 

“He’s from the upper city.” 

“I know.” 

Ignis placed a hand on Gladio’s shoulder, an anchor in the storm. Gladio just closed his eyes. He knew. Of course he knew. Prompto’s sunkissed skin, his complete lack of magic, his dulled senses that couldn’t even detect the changes in Gladio’s pheromones–something that would have been blatantly obvious to any Insomnian. 

The way he clearly hadn’t recognized what Gladio almost did.

“You’ve chosen someone who may never be able to be what you need, you realize.” 

Gladio snorted. It wasn’t a choice. It had never been a choice, and they both knew it. Gladio’s magic, his _nature,_ had chosen Prompto.

“Does he know?” 

“I don’t think so,” Gladio rasped. 

Ignis looked at him sternly until Gladio met his eyes. “You have to tell him before it’s too late.” 

“It’s already too late,” Gladio said roughly. He’d been in denial. He could have no other now. He’d never wanted to cry more than that moment, eyes smarting around tears he refused to let fall. His teeth clenched, muscles quivering in his jaw and neck. Ignis didn’t have to say anything more, the implications of Gladio’s predicament obvious. His family would never accept it. He and Prompto may become the target of more dangerous denizens than just Ravus Nox Fleuret. That is, if he even wanted to stick around after what Gladio had nearly done.

To make matters worse, Gladio had never even thought he’d wanted this. A lover, sure. A mate? It had never crossed his mind. And yet...and yet, he found that now it– _Prompto_ –was what he wanted more than anything else in this gods-forsaken world.

Ignis let out a long, tired sigh. “This is foolish. But I will support you no matter what. You know that, right?” 

Gladio swallowed with a click. “Thanks, Iggy.” 

Ignis hummed. “Let’s get you fed. It’s time I met this paramour of yours properly.” 

They found Prompto in the kitchen, slumped against the counter and nursing a cup of coffee between slim fingers. He perked up when they entered the room, expression guarded as he looked to Ignis before settling on Gladio. 

Gladio walked to him slowly, shoulders already relaxing to see him still there, still with him. But unease simmered low in his belly. “I’m sorry,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. 

“For what?” Prompto said cautiously. “What were you trying to do?” 

Gladio didn't want to say it. But Ignis cleared his throat, not allowing him to dodge the question. Prompto’s fingers brushed his chin and coaxed Gladio to look him in the eye. “Tell me,” he said gently. 

Gladio bit his lip, but between Ignis and Prompto, there was nowhere to run. “I nearly marked you.” 

“And what does that mean?” Prompto asked patiently. 

“It means...I almost bound myself to you. Forever.” 

Shock flitted over Prompto’s face, his hand dropping as if Gladio had snapped at him. “What? _Why?_ I’m just…”

 _“Don’t,”_ Gladio snarled, instincts already frayed and spiking sharply in protective rage. “Don’t talk shit about yourself. Not in front of me.” 

A flash of indignation had Prompto going rigid. “Explain,” he said tightly. But Gladio couldn’t bring himself to speak anymore, floundering. 

With a sigh, Ignis pushed them away from each other, steering Gladio to his kitchen table. “Sit. You as well, Mister…” he raised a brow. 

“....Argentum. Prompto Argentum,” Prompto said slowly, taking a seat across from Gladio. “What’s going on? I don’t understand.” 

When Gladio didn’t answer–he didn't _want_ Prompto to know. What if he decided to leave when he realized what all of this meant? At the same time, he felt like a coward. He’d never backed down like this before, so why _now?_ –Ignis spoke on his behalf, taking the decision from Gladio’s fumbling hands. 

“Gladio is a Reaver,” Ignis said simply, grabbing the groceries he’d brought over and shuffling aside Gladio’s dirty dishes with a sniff. He pulled out a clean pan and began to prep some vegetables. The movements seemed to calm him, his anger from earlier receding.

“Okay…?” Prompto said with a lifted brow. 

“As you have no doubt surmised, Reavers are a particularly violent race. Left to their basest natures, they will kill anything that threatens their territory, much like any predator. Their strong lines of magic make them good at it, too. The best.” He flicked on the stovetop, a slowly growing pile of peppers filling the pan and beginning to simmer. The air filled with spice. “However, what makes them most powerful also makes them vulnerable. Their magic is as volatile as their natures, requiring strict training to suppress and control. They can be...possessive of their bonds, and once they’ve chosen a mate…”

“Wait, hold on,” Prompto said, a note of alarm making Gladio wince. _“Mate?”_

Ignis turned from his cooking and pushed his glasses up his nose, straightfaced. “Welcome to the pack.” 

Prompto sat back in his seat, stunned. He worked his jaw for several seconds as he seemed to try and fail to come up with something to say. 

Gladio watched him warily, scenting the air and preparing himself to make chase if the slighter man decided to make a run for it. “Jeez, Iggy, you’re making me sound like an animal.” But he couldn’t deny the accuracy of Ignis’ description. It didn’t help matters that his instincts had been going haywire as his peace of mind became more and more unsettled. 

“And what’s wrong with that?” Ignis said lightly, stirring his vegetables. “I’ve always said you were more like a wolf than a human.” 

“Wait, wait,” Prompto interrupted, sounding like he wasn’t following at _all._ “What exactly do you mean by _mate?”_

“For you, nothing much,” Ignis said dryly. “You might experience your Reaver displaying slightly possessive behavior…” 

“Ignis.” 

“He may try to eat anyone who attempts to approach you, so you should watch out for that.” 

“Ignis!” 

“Oh, and most importantly; he will never be able to lie with another again. Though you will be able to do as you please, at your own peril, of course.”

“Cut it out,” Gladio barked, not needing his nose to sense the alarm in his new lover. Ignis’ jaw clicked shut, anger simmering behind the cage of his teeth as he turned away. 

“He needs to understand the severity of the situation,” he said, stiff-lipped. 

“It’s not his fault.” 

_“What does that matter?”_ Ignis slammed his hands against the counter, bowls clattering together loudly. 

A plate crashed to the floor, shattering against the tile. They all flinched at the racket, deafening in the tension between them. Gladio forced himself to back down, realizing that he’d been leaning aggressively over the table, fingers leaving dents in the wood. 

“It does,” Gladio said softly, and Ignis’ shoulders eased. After a moment, he began to move again, adding meat to his stir-fry. The spice grew thicker in the air, Ignis’ cooking as appetizing as ever, but Gladio felt too sick to want any of it. 

“Why is it severe? What did I do?” Prompto whispered into the silence, and Gladio’s stomach fell through the floor. 

“Nothing! You didn’t do anything. You saved my _life,”_ Gladio said immediately. 

“And by doing so, I _bound_ you to me? Is that why…” Prompto’s face fell with dismay, looking at Gladio like he’d struck him. 

“No! That’s not. Prompto, that’s not how it works. At all! Ignis, tell him!” Gladio pleaded, but Ignis looked just as bewildered by the direction Prompto’s mind had taken him. Gladio growled, frustrated. “This isn’t your fault. I’m _attracted_ to you. You...soothe me, in a way that no one else ever has. You’re what I _want.”_ He sighed, slumping back into his chair, fingers running through his disheveled hair. How did he explain this? How could he possibly explain everything he’d been through since he’d become head of his house? The pressures he’d faced and the turmoil that had eaten him alive and weathered his control like the ceaseless currents against the shore. How can he explain the way Prompto made all of that disappear, his very presence the most potent healing balm on Gladio’s psyche, the piece of himself he’d never known he was missing? 

“Ignis is making it sound worse than it is. You can walk away from this–” his throat convulsed, “...from me. And nothing bad is going to happen. I won’t hunt you down. I won’t die or anything.” Prompto may have been everything Gladio had never known he’d needed, but that didn’t mean his unfortunate weakness meant Prompto was bound to him forever. It just meant that Gladio wouldn’t ever want anyone else. 

If Gladio had been stable when he met Prompto–if he’d been secure in his sexuality and content with his lot–then it probably wouldn’t have happened this way. But it did. And Gladio couldn’t bring himself to regret it.

Prompto placed a hand over Gladio’s, his blue eyes focused. “But something will happen, won’t it.” 

Gladio shifted in place, even just the small touch from his mate soothing him. “Ignis won’t let that happen.” 

“...” Ignis leaned heavily against the counter, refusing to look at them.

“Ignis?” 

“...I won’t. But Gladio…” 

“No. It’s alright.” 

“What? What’s alright? Gladio,” Prompto said, voice going up an octave in alarm. 

Gladio clenched his jaw, but Prompto wouldn't yield. He sighed. “I may slip into Blood Fever.” This is not how he’d wanted his ‘morning after’ to go. Somehow he’d envisioned more...cuddling. Maybe some breakfast in bed. Instead, he was showing his brand new lover the worst side of himself and possibly ruining everything before it could even really begin. 

“Which is…?” Prompto said with genuine frustration. 

“A Reaver’s curse,” Ignis answered when Gladio could not. “It’s an affliction brought about by great loss or injury. Essentially, he will kill everything in his path until he, himself, is killed.” 

“It’s how my father died,” Gladio said gruffly, but shook his head when Prompto’s grip on him tightened. “But Ignis can stop me.” 

“By _poisoning_ you,” Ignis said venomously, his glare chilling Gladio with its intensity. “There’s no guarantee you could come out of something like that–”

“Enough,” Gladio cut him off before he could get going again. He threw his hands in the air, dislodging Prompto’s gentle grip in his frustration. “It isn’t going to happen! Why are we even talking about this–”

“You nearly _tore my throat out–”_

“Because you interrupted–!”

“I stopped you from making a _mistake!_ I will not let you bind yourself to this–this _stranger_ without–”

“You don’t get to make that choice for me!” Gladio roared, but Ignis was equally incensed. 

_“I don’t want to have to kill you if you lose control!”_

Ignis’ shout rang like an echo in an endless alleyway in the silence that followed. A wash of ice trickling down Gladio’s spine. Ignis took off his glasses and pinched his nose, fighting to get a hold of himself. “Don’t make me make that choice,” he said brokenly. 

“Ignis...how long have you been thinking about this?” Gladio husked, anger draining from him completely at the sight of Ignis’ rare display of emotion. 

“I’ve watched you deteriorate for the past _year,_ Gladio. You’ve been losing control more and more often and I haven’t been able to do anything about it. Do you know why I was chosen to be your partner?” 

Gladio’s expression grimmed. He knew exactly why. “Because you’re a long distance fighter that can watch my back when I go in. Because we’ve always worked well together since we were kids. Because our families are allies. And...because you’re one of the only ones who can put me down.” Just like his father had been put down. Despite how horrible it sounded, it had always been a comfort to Gladio, who feared more than anything losing control like his father, and his grandmother before him. It didn’t always happen, but it was a rare Reaver that lived to old age, especially when their natures pushed them into violent professions where injury and loss were inevitable. Gladio knew that, had resigned himself to it, and had relied on Ignis’ strength should it ever come to pass. But what had been a comfort to him had clearly weighed on his partner’s mind. “You know you’re more than that to me, Ignis.” 

Ignis’ shoulders stiffened. Slowly, he put on his glasses and turned off the stove. “I know,” he said quietly. Finally he looked up. “That’s why I hoped you’d never put yourself in this kind of situation. Sleeping around is one thing, but this? Our lives are already dangerous as it is without something as trivial as a rejected bond endangering you further. And you’ve been so unstable lately...”

“Can I say something?” Prompto said abruptly, and both men jumped, the bubble between them popping and reality reasserting itself with an audible _snap_. Gladio gaped at the stern faced man, shocked that he’d completely forgotten they’d had an audience. Ignis’ eyes narrowed, but he didn’t stop him. 

“If you must.” 

“Look, I don’t know what all is going on between you two, or what most of this means. Thing is,” he rubbed the back of his neck, an almost sheepish expression banishing the grimness from his mein. “If you’re worried about me rejecting Gladio or something, I can tell you right now that’s pretty damn unlikely. He’s sorta, kinda, exactly what I’ve been looking for.” Prompto stood up next to Gladio and placed a hand on the back of Gladio’s neck, giving Ignis a sardonic smile and sending heat up Gladio’s spine at the possessive gesture. 

“Oh? And what exactly have you been looking for?” Ignis almost hissed, suspicious. Prompto’s eyes hardened. 

“None of your business, mister bodyguard. Partner? Whatever. You can take your mother-hen routine and kindly inflict it on someone else.” 

Lightning crackled between them as Gladio couldn’t decide whether to intervene or duck for cover. Especially not while he was still reeling from the fact that Prompto hadn’t bolted for the door as soon as he uttered the word ‘mate’.

“Charming,” Ignis finally said, dry as sandpaper, and Gladio let out a huge breath. He sincerely wondered how his apartment was still intact after all this. “But if I did that, the both of you would probably starve.” He eyed Prompto’s thin form with distaste, ignoring the way the blond’s eyebrows shot up in offense. 

Disregarding his flabbergasted expression, Ignis dished out two servings for the both of them, flickering his eyes pointedly to the chairs before turning his back on them, dumping the empty pan into the sink to begin working on the pile of refuse that was Gladio’s kitchen. 

Gladio sat down, dazed, as Ignis muttered under his breath, phrases like ‘ _honestly’_ and ‘ _how do you live like this’_ barely audible over the harsh scraping of wool steel against plateware. 

Slowly, Prompto took a seat as well, eyeing the food in front of him like it was a snake about to bite. He looked at Gladio with wide eyes, and Gladio was struck by how mussed he looked in the light of day, shirt unbuttoned and hair a complete disaster. It was endearing. “What just happened?” 

Gladio grunted a laugh before shaking his head. He wasn’t entirely sure either. All he knew was, he hadn’t lost Prompto _or_ Ignis in the last hour, and for that he could only be immensely grateful. “No idea.” He picked up his fork and dug into the food, groaning at how amazing the explosion of salt and spice was over his tongue, the most substantial meal he’d had since the last time Ignis became fed up with his poor eating habits and made him dinner. “But I would eat that if I were you. He won’t stop fussing otherwise.” 

“I heard that,” Ignis deadpanned, and Gladio grinned, a weight he hadn’t noticed was there lifting from his shoulders. 

Prompto still looked nothing less than whiplashed, but to his credit, took the threat of further fussing to heart. He picked up his fork and cautiously took a bite. “Welcome to the pack, indeed,” the man muttered.

* * *

# Part 4

Gladio was on cloud nine, a deep contentment and no small amount of excitement crawling its way up his spine. His face was in a constant state of warmth as he shoved as much delicious food down his throat as he could, body and mind sliding snugly into alignment. 

He said he wanted him. 

Prompto said Gladio was exactly what he wanted! And it wasn’t just lip service. Prompto actually _knew._

Prompto, for his part, seemed vacant, staring out into the dull afternoon like he wasn’t quite sure how he’d ended up here. It didn’t appear that he regretted what he said, but he didn’t exactly look comfortable either. Gladio could only watch him carefully and wonder if he actually understood what it was he agreed to. They needed to talk about this properly, and Gladio already knew Prompto well enough to realize that he wouldn’t say anything in front of Ignis. So he ate his food and waited. 

Once the last morsel had been consumed and Ignis was content that Gladio had eaten, he got to the reason he came to call in the first place. “There has been another attack.” 

Gladio’s good mood came crashing down, reality dragging him right back down to Eos. Beside him, Prompto jerked to attention, chin falling off his bracing palm in startlement. His clumsiness was rather endearing. Unexpected. But it was growing on Gladio faster than his heart could keep up with. Gladio cleared his throat, willing himself to focus. 

“Ravus?”

“Indeed.”

“I thought he was just after me,” Gladio grumbled.

Ignis folded his arms, leaning back against the now spotless counter. “Evidently not. It seems our information was not entirely accurate. Last night after you left, I received reports of a disturbance in the Eastern District.” 

“Wraiths?” 

“Yes. Three Glaives are dead.” 

He let the heavy statement hang in the air for several seconds as Gladio absorbed that information. 

“Is this still about his missing sister? Do we have any leads?” If they could just figure out what the hell Ravus’ problem was, they might be able to stop this nonsense. They’d been at peace for years now, and it was being ruined by some upstart kid with a sister complex. 

“That appears to be the case,” Ignis answered, lips pinched. “I don’t know about any leads. We aren't even sure what the girl looks like; she’s been under a veil of secrecy since the fall of the Fleuret Family.” 

Gladio sighed. “Just great.” 

“I think I can help with that,” Prompto said unexpectedly. 

Ignis gave him a sharp look. “You’ve met her before?” 

Prompto chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck and looking away. It was a habit that Gladio was picking up on more and more. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I’ve seen her though. She’s slim, with long white-blond hair and a kind smile.” 

Ignis didn’t look very impressed with the vague description. “Well, it’s a start,” he said slowly. “How have you seen her? She’s not been seen in public for a decade.”

“I have my ways,” he said after a moment, and Gladio peered at him with lowered brows. 

“I see.” Ignis pursed his lips evasion, but didn’t press. Perhaps he sensed that now was not the time for more interrogation. “Gladio, we have a shift in an hour. I will meet you at the usual place.” He wrinkled his nose as he stood upright. “And please, take a bath before you come?”

He left without a backward glance and Gladio couldn’t help but chuckle at his swift retreat. 

The moment Ignis was gone, Prompto’s arms were around him and Gladio hummed in pleasure, allowing the slighter man to press close. 

“Did you mean it?” Gladio said lowly, peering up into Prompto’s mischievous blues. 

Prompto tensed imperceptibly, smile slipping into something more flat, a little less sincere. “Mean what?”

“That you wouldn’t reject me. That I’m what you want.” 

Prompto was still for a moment, then he pulled away with a hum, walking to the window to peer out into the wan sunlight that made it past the towering buildings and lattice of bridges above. Gladio shifted in his seat, cold where Prompto had left him bereft. 

“Are you sure about this, Gladio?” he said softly to the streets below. “Scentia is right. You don’t know me.” 

_It doesn't matter,_ Gladio wanted to say, but bit his tongue. “Then tell me.” 

Prompto’s shoulders shifted in a whisper of fabric. He didn’t answer. 

Gladio stood from his seat, moving toward him with measured steps. But Prompto’s voice stopped him. 

“What if you find out I’m not who you think I am? What if you...mark me and decide that I’m not what you wanted after all?” 

It was too late for that. Already Gladio’s instincts had recognized Prompto as his mate. His magic _sang_ for him, whether he wore Gladio’s mark or not. Perhaps before last night they could have backed out of this, but by taking care of him–by being exactly what Gladio _needed_ more than even Gladio realized–Prompto had carved his place deeply into Gladio’s heart. 

Giving Prompto his mark would simply stabilize what was already there, bring balance to his magic and his nature. But rejecting it would leave an open wound. It would eventually scar over. Gladio could recover from it. But the door was closed forever for anyone else. 

He didn’t think that was what Prompto needed to hear. 

Gladio tilted his head slightly, mulling over their conversation last night. About Prompto’s past lovers and how they rejected him when he revealed what he really wanted _._ Did he still think Gladio would do that to him? “That won’t happen.” 

Prompto’s fingers clenched into fists at his sides. His voice broke. “Why? Because I saved your life? Because I just happened to be in the right place at the right time and we just happen to be sexually compatible?” 

Or maybe he did need to hear it. 

“Because you’re kind,” Gladio said, taking another step. Prompto flinched, as if he expected much harsher words. “You saved me, yeah, and you could have just left it at that. Most people wouldn’t have even gone that far.” He took another step. “But you didn’t stop there. You looked out for me, made sure I was safe for _weeks._ When I was cold you warmed me. When I was hungry you made sure I ate. When I was spiralling, you lifted me up. Sure, the sex is good.” An understatement if there ever was one. Prompto’s touch hit notes in Gladio that he never knew were possible. “Better than good.” 

Gladio came to a stop just behind the slighter man, breathing him in and letting his hands rest lightly against his elbows. “But Prom. I chose you because you’re _you.”_

“But I….I’m…” Prompto’s shoulders were shaking now, a fine tremor in the light connection between them. “All that was because…” 

Gladio was sorely tempted to lean closer, to pull the man in his arms and soothe away all his doubts. Instead, he pulled back with a small sigh. “It’s okay. I get it. If it’s time you need, I can give it to you.” 

Prompto finally turned around, surprise painting his features. “But I thought…” 

Gladio laughed humorously. “That I’m a ticking time bomb? I said it before and I’ll say it again. You can walk away from this. I’m not going to die like some delicate fairy because of a little heartbreak.” Probably. 

It was as if Prompto could hear the qualifier Gladio hadn’t said. His eyes narrowed. 

“I mean it,” he interrupted before Prompto could say anything. “It’s not like I’m not aware this is strange. We barely know each other and I’m already pressuring you into being with me for the rest of your life.” 

“You’re not…” 

“I am,” Gladio said firmly. Whether he was intending to or not. “This doesn’t have to happen today. It doesn’t have to happen _ever._ But before you decide, let me prove myself. Let me seduce you properly.” He grinned, flashing his canines. He was delighted when Prompto flushed, jaw slack as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. 

“Uh.” He glanced away, rubbing his neck before his eyes flickered back almost shyly. “You don’t have to do all that. I already like you.” 

Gladio’s grin widened. “The hell I don’t.” He reached out and ruffled Prompto’s already mussed hair, completely ignoring the older man’s offended exclamation. “And I have a really good idea of how to start.”

Gladio decided then that he didn’t need to hold back anymore and didn’t resist the call of that tempting flush, pulling it gently into his mouth and nipping down. Prompto gasped around a chuckle, scrunching his nose. “Whoa, there, big guy! You have places to be today!” 

“Screw that,” Gladio complained, nuzzling against Prompto’s collar bone. 

“C-come on Gladio, give me a second!” He pressed firmly but gently against Gladio’s chest and the Reaver reluctantly pulled back, meeting Prompto’s suddenly serious eyes. “I just want to...you’re really okay? You’re really sure about this? About me?” 

“Yes,” Gladio said simply. 

Something vulnerable passed over Prompto’s face at his answer. Worry or regret or fear, Gladio couldn’t quite tell. But it was gone a moment later, Prompto’s thin lips hardening with resolve. He placed a calloused hand on each of Gladio’s cheeks, pulling him down for a brief but heartfelt kiss. “Then I will do everything in my power to protect you.” 

Gladio’s brows drew together. Protect him from what? But before he could ask, Prompto continued, this time with an edge of teasing. “And maybe someday I’ll let you mark me up as much as you want, big guy.” 

It wasn’t an answer, not really. Gladio still wasn’t certain that Prompto understood what that meant yet. But for now, it was enough. “Careful what you ask for,” he rumbled, flashing his canines. 

Prompto grinned back, the easy atmosphere between them returning. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up. I have something I need to check out, so as much as I’d _like_ to ravish you all day…” 

“Oh? What’s so important?”

Prompto huffed a laugh. “I do have a life outside stalking you, you know.” 

“You mean stalking me doesn’t pay the bills?” For one absurd moment, Gladio seriously considered paying Prompto to stick around. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have the money; he’d been putting most of it away since he’d begun his career and it was no small sum.

As if Prompto could read his mind, he smacked him on the nose like a misbehaving pup. “None of that, rich boy,” he said with laughter in his eyes. Gladio pouted only to have his full lower lip pinched between playful fingers. “Shower. Now.” 

With a small thrill and a mischievous grin, Gladio grabbed Prompto’s thighs and lifted him up in the air. Prompto grunted in surprise, scrambling to find purchase on the larger man’s shoulders as he strode from the kitchen and back into the bedroom. “Only if you join me. Let me return the favor?” 

“Oh yeah?” Prompto teased, and Gladio nipped his shoulder in retaliation. 

“Yeah,” he rasped, kicking the door to the bathroom open and setting Prompto on his feet, pressing him against the sink. He wanted to press closer, nuzzle into him, but he resisted by the barest breadth. “As much as I...enjoyed last night, I can’t help but feel like…” he worked his jaw, trying to put to words just what he was thinking.

Prompto’s smile gentled as he placed a finger over Gladio’s lips. “Like you didn’t give anything to me in return?” 

Silenced, Gladio nodded his head. Without thought, his tongue snaked out to swipe against the pad of Prompto’s finger, and he received the pleasure of watching the older man’s eyes darken. He opened his mouth slightly, allowing the bitter salt of Prompto’s skin to coat his palate. The finger slipped further inside at his encouragement and pressed down against his tongue ever so slightly. Prompto breathed in slowly and released it even slower, riveted. 

“Would it help if I told you that last night was the single hottest thing I’ve ever experienced?” Prompto whispered.

Gladio found that hard to believe, but he couldn’t help the tiny twitch in the corner of his mouth at the praise. Still. He leaned closer, rolling his tongue possessively around Prompto’s index finger. The older man chuckled, voice cracking slightly. 

“You like to play with fire, don’t you.”

“Hmm,” Gladio answered. He wasn’t hearing a no. Pulling off of Prompto with a final lingering taste, he turned around and leaned into his shower, turning on the water before dropping the loose pants he’d pulled on earlier to the floor without an ounce of shame. In their short acquaintance he already knew that Prompto didn’t respond well to pushing. So he would pull. He would plead; beg if he had to… and he was surprisingly okay with that. A shiver worked up his spine that had nothing to do with the cool air brushing over his skin and everything to do with the gaze he could feel burning into his back. A welcome gaze, one he wished would never stray. He wanted it always, and wondered seriously how he’d ever lived without it.

He bit his lip, glancing over his shoulder with as much heat as he could muster. 

His stomach swooped as he caught Prompto’s expression and he quickly looked away, stepping into the narrow shower. For a split second he hesitated, loathe to wash away Prompto’s scent, but he brushed it aside. If he was lucky, it wouldn’t be a problem for long. Ducking beneath the hot spray, Gladio let it wash over him, not even considering closing the glass door regardless of the mess it would make on his floor. He let the hot water sluice over him, drench his hair, warm his muscles. He let out an appreciative moan as if he didn't have an audience at all, and smiled slightly at Prompto’s whispered prayer. 

With a bracing inhale Gladio posed for him, hips cocked and hands hooked behind his neck in a way he knew made his arms look great, trying not to feel as foolish as he thought he looked. He gave Prompto his most sultry stare beneath dark lashes, something he’d learned from Aranea, ironically. Lowering his voice, he said, “Please?” 

Prompto looked like he’d been struck by a truck, mouth hanging open and irises dilating noticeably. Gladio almost had him, he just needed to get rid of that last lingering hesitation. Then it struck him, something that would decide it once and for all. Even quieter than before, Gladio lowered his chin and rumbled, _“Sir.”_ Immediately his face exploded with heat, but he struggled not to let his embarrassment show. It was such a novel sensation that he didn’t even know how he _should_ react. That, more than anything, froze him in place, hands shaking ever so slightly where they clutched against his nape. Oh gods, if Prompto rejected him after _that…._

But Gladio needn’t have worried. Prompto’s expression darkened, his thin lips lifting into a dangerous smile that had Gladio rocking back on his heels. With slow, deliberate movements, Prompto loosened his already wrinkled tie and let it drop to the floor. Suddenly, their roles were reversed and _Prompto_ was the one pulling Gladio–as if he’d wrapped the tie around Gladio’s neck instead and _tugged._ Golden skin was revealed one tantalizing button at a time, Gladio’s throat getting tighter with every inch he was gifted. 

When Prompto’s shirt finally fell from his shoulders, Gladio was already salivating, the hot water pounding against his skin sending a heady rush to his head. He gulped as Prompto’s long, slim fingers slipped beneath his fly and popped open the button, his bare torso one long line of golden skin from his neck to the tempting dip of his pelvis. 

“See something you like, big guy?” 

“Yes,” Gladio breathed frankly, eyes greedily dragging up Prompto’s beautiful runner’s build to his delightfully flushed face. He just barely caught a flash of uncertainty in the blond’s gaze before it was wiped away once again with outward confidence. Well. That just wouldn’t do. This time he didn’t let his uncertainty stall him. “Sir.” 

He watched covetously as Prompto’s throat worked around a swallow, the blond slipping his pants from his slim hips without further thought. Gladio eyed him with naked desire, willing him to join him faster and Prompto answered the unspoken request, lithe body graceful as he stepped into the shower. The space was so small he was but a tempting fingers-width away from Gladio’s skin, warm water washing over them both and steam rising headily between them. Prompto pulled the glass door shut.

Gladio’s fingers twitched, but he was ever a quick study. With a strength of will, he did not reach out to the other man and run his hands over every inch of freckled skin as his instincts demanded, but instead, let his arms fall obediently to his sides and asked permission. “Can I touch?” 

Prompto looked up into his face, half-lidded as he stared just as intently at all of Gladio. “No,” he said simply. 

Disappointment rose hot and hard in Gladio’s throat, his eyes widening in shock, but Prompto gently swiped a bead of moisture from his cheek, smiling beguilingly. “Get on your knees and open your mouth.” 

Oh. _Oh._

Gladio’s throat clenched in anticipation, something completely different welling up inside of him. He complied. Immediately. 

So quickly, in fact, that he couldn’t hold back a wince as his knees hit the slick, tiled floor. But he recovered quickly, the sharp ache only adding to the excitement rising in his blood. Prompto, for his part, looked stunned at his easy acceptance, and even more so when Gladio obediently placed his hands on his own thighs and opened his mouth, waiting patiently. 

Water warmed fingers slipped reverently around Gladio’s jaw, a thumb slipping between his parted lips to press against his tongue. Gladio lowered his gaze from Prompto’s beautiful face to his cock–slim and long and surrounded by a bed of water darkened gold–as it bobbed temptingly beside his face. 

“How is that you could possibly be this perfect?” Prompto breathed, and Gladio flushed impossibly further, an involuntary, barely audible sound making its way out from his center. Prompto didn’t miss it, grin sharpening dangerously. “Perfect just for me.” 

Gladio didn’t think Prompto knew just how accurate that statement was. The sheer possessiveness of it wrapped around him, ripped a growl from his open mouth, gratingly loud without his tongue to stifle it. Prompto’s dick twitched beside Gladio’s cheek and he could feel his impatience rising. His fangs lengthened, but he’d had more than enough practice in his life to know how to shield them. 

To know how to _use_ them.

Ah. He could see it in Prompto’s eyes as the slighter man caught sight of the lengthening points. He got off on the danger just like so many others. Gladio could work with that. 

Prompto’s grip on his jaw tightened and Gladio grunted. Making sure he had Gladio’s attention, Prompto said with more composure than Gladio thought he should rightly possess in this situation, “Slap the tile three times if it becomes too much.”

Gladio couldn’t use his mouth, occupied as it was, so he nodded impatiently, cock throbbing hotly between his legs. There was no way he was about to stop this. 

Satisfied by Gladio’s agreement, Prompto gentled his grip and slipped his fingers from Gladio’s mouth. “Open your mouth wider,” he husked, and Gladio did, relaxing his jaw as much as he could. He was rewarded by Prompto taking himself in hand and guiding his slim length onto Gladio’s waiting tongue. 

Gladio breathed out harshly as Prompto’s essence consumed his attention totally, sampled directly from its source. He rumbled, leaning forward to get _more._ Prompto didn't stop him as Gladio took him fully into his mouth, the velvet length slipping inside Gladio’s more than willing heat. 

“That’s it,” Prompto praised, voice getting breathier with passion. His head lolled on his neck as his hips rolled forward languidly, dragging his cock against the roof of Gladio’s mouth. Gladio relaxed, eyes falling half mast as he allowed himself to surrender, careful to keep his fangs away from sensitive flesh. His earlier urgency faded away as the older man started a steady pace, pressing deeper with each pass, but never uncomfortably. The hot water pattered against Gladio’s back and the top of his head, his nerves alight with sensation. He felt surrounded, held, as if Prompto’s gentle fingers wrapped around more than just the damp scruff of his beard. 

Yet, Gladio wanted more. He craved the sweet release that Prompto had brought him last night– craved the ability to let go of all conscious thought and decisions and only _feel._ Opening his eyes, he looked up at Prompto, catching his gaze and pushing forward until Prompto’s cock hit the back of his throat. 

He could feel the shudder go through every inch of Prompto’s deceptively thin frame, but again, he did not stop Gladio. That was all the permission Gladio needed. He picked up his pace, faster than Prompto had initially started, slipping Prompto’s cock almost all of the way out before pulling it back in as far as it would go–perhaps more roughly than he should. But he chased the pain and pleasure alike, not quite sure what he was reaching for but knowing that it wasn’t quite _enough._ Again. And again. Excitement tightened his stomach as he felt Prompto’s fingers clench in his hair and against his jaw, the man letting out small whimpers of pleasure as Gladio’s throat wrapped around him. 

Gladio lost himself to it, using every trick he knew that didn’t involve his hands–pressing his tongue just beneath the vein on the underside of Prompto’s cock, wrapping his lips around the crown and _sucking_ before sliding all the way back down. He just barely grazed it with his teeth, not nearly enough to harm but enough to _feel_ , running his rough fingers up Prompto’s slick, corded legs–

Gladio gasped as he was yanked back abruptly, blinking the water from his eyes, mouth still hanging open obscenely. A string of saliva snapped between them unheeded. 

Prompto glared down at him and Gladio’s dick jumped against his hip, reminding him of his own sharp need. “I didn’t say you could touch,” he said darkly, and Gladio realized his mistake, his hands slapping right back to his thighs with a thrill of adrenaline. But there was no fear that Prompto would end their game as punishment, not with the way the man was looking at him as if he were the most delicious meal he’d ever been served. “Whatever should I do with you?” 

Gladio grinned, canines flashing defiantly and pheromones sharpening in the air. “Whatever you want, _sir.”_

Prompto hummed, clearly pleased with his answer. He loomed over the larger man, the steam intimate between them. A bead of water traveled from Prompto’s hair and dripped off his long nose. It fell onto Gladio’s cheek and slipped down his jaw, his working throat, his bare chest, just another drop in the constant dissonance of sensation. “Wrap your hands around that pretty cock of yours and don’t move them. Maybe then you’ll remember to keep them to yourself.” 

Gladio shivered and did as he asked, wrapping his fingers loosely around his own flesh. His dick throbbed in time with the heavy beating of his heart, but he bade himself not to lose control this time. He wouldn’t move them, no matter how his blood screamed at him to finish himself off this instant. To his shock, he was already close. Desperately so. 

As if reading his mind, Prompto said, “Don’t come until I say so,” and guided his cock right back into Gladio’s waiting mouth. But this time Prompto’s pace was anything but gentle, sliding in almost more than Gladio could take immediately. Gladio’s eyes watered as he fought the urge to gag with everything that he had, Prompto’s fingers digging harshly in his hair and his narrow hips pistoning with considerably less care for Gladio’s comfort. Gladio grunted as his own fingers tightened around his cock involuntarily, but he didn’t possess the coordination to move them even if he wanted to–he couldn’t focus on anything but the overwhelming sensation of Prompto’s arousal hitting the back of his throat. He tried to force himself to relax, but lost the battle with his gag reflex soon enough, convulsing where he kneeled. 

Yet pulling away didn’t even cross his mind and Prompto did not stop, never once taking his half-lidded eyes from Gladio’s face. He looked just as far gone as Gladio felt.

Gladio’s clenching throat went numb, his eyes watering and drool slipping from his lips freely to be washed away by the relentless stream of water. There was nothing but the rocking of Prompto inside of him, nothing but the dizziness of lack of oxygen and the pounding of pain in his knees. And yet, arousal roared through him, heightening every nerve with a sensitivity he’d never known, a ringing in his ears that obliterated everything but this moment and a single thought. _Prompto._ Gladio’s grip became painful in an unconscious effort to hold himself back and he was torn between trying to escape and wishing this would _never end_. 

But all too soon, Prompto let out a long, low moan, shoving as far in as Gladio’s throat would allow. Gladio couldn’t breathe at all as his head was held immobile, hair follicles and lungs on fire as Prompto held himself perfectly still. Then Prompto twitched against his tongue with a gasp. Gladio’s eyes rolled into the back of his head as the older man let out a gorgeous whimper, shaking as he released down Gladio’s throat. Despite the pain, Gladio swallowed around his length, reveling in the keen that was ripped from Prompto–the punched out, _gorgeous_ sound of his shattered control–at the action. 

Just as Gladio’s eyes began to spot from lack of oxygen, Prompto pulled out, the rest of his come splashing against Gladio’s chin and neck in weak spurts. Gladio heaved and coughed as he was released, but had little time to recover before Prompto dropped to his knees as well, shoving his tongue into Gladio’s mouth and lapping greedily in pursuit of his own taste, caring nothing for the mess that smeared between them. Gladio groaned and let himself be plundered, responding weakly and shaking all over. Prompto pulled away only to press their foreheads together, mumbling nonsensical praise rapidfire in the humid air between them. 

“So perfect, so perfect for me, that was amazing, _you’re_ amazing…” 

Gladio barely heard him through the haze in his head, eyes half lidded and chest heaving. His body still felt like it was rocking against the floor–like a sailor abruptly returned to land. Prompto recovered well before he did, gazing into Gladio’s distant eyes and seeming to like what he saw there. “Oh Astrals...gorgeous.” 

Insistently, Prompto tugged Gladio’s slack hands from where they’d fallen unheeded and wrapped them around himself. Gladio made a small noise, but Prompto shushed him. “You can touch now. Move how you want to. I want to see you come.” Then he crawled into Gladio’s lap, pressing their slick chests together and sliding against him with a pleased hum. “Oh Gods, more than _anything_ else, I want to see that…”

Gladio whimpered as his cock slipped temptingly between Prompto’s cheeks and the last dregs of his control were _gone._ Dragging his hands up every inch of skin he’d been denied for _ages,_ he gripped Prompto’s shoulders and dragged him down, rutting up against him with abandon. Prompto moaned, wrapping himself around Gladio as if he too couldn’t get enough. He ground down obligingly, whispering filthy praise and encouragement into Gladio’s ear as the near insensate man moved gracelessly. It was only the firm grip of Prompto’s fingers in his hair that kept Gladio from biting now that he was so close, so deliciously within reach.

The thought–of claiming him, making Prompto _his_ – was what finally sent Gladio over the edge. He came messily against the cleft of Prompto’s ass with a low, guttural moan, voice and sanity completely shattered. Prompto watched him fall apart just as reverently as he had the previous night, and though Gladio was distantly aware of his scrutiny, he couldn’t find it in himself to be ashamed, too far gone to realize how utterly destroyed his guard was. 

Gladio was aware of very little for what felt like a long time; the cool tile against his back, the smooth slide of a rag against his body, Prompto’s familiar voice as he spoke...Gladio blinked, his vision blurring and coming into focus as a soft, fluffy towel worked through his hair. Prompto’s soft smile finally registered, sunshine through the haze. 

“Are you with me? You were drifting pretty hard there,” Prompto husked as he gently worked the water from Gladio’s tangles.

“I–” Gladio coughed lightly. “I was what?” 

Prompto’s hands halted as he looked down at Gladio thoughtfully, his blond hair already dried and fluffed. It looked so soft without product. Gladio wanted to run his hands through it. But his body felt like lead, so he left them where they were. “Man, I keep forgetting how little experience you have. No, no, don’t get offended, it’s my fault more than anything.” His voice lowered fondly. “You make me lose control so easily...but that’s no excuse. Did I go too far?” 

“No,” Gladio said immediately, then winced as his voice came out little more than a croak. Prompto didn't miss it, his lips thinning. 

“I did,” he said decisively, rubbing lightly at Gladio’s sore jaw. “I won’t lie, I was sort of pushing you because I thought you would stop me. Do you remember what I told you to do if it became too much?”

“Slap the tile three times,” Gladio parroted with a raised brow. “I didn’t want you to stop.” 

Gladio watched in fascination as Prompto ducked his head to hide his expression. But Gladio could see clearly how his eyes shone. “You really are something. But-uh, seriously. Stop me next time if I go too far. I’m _serious.”_ His brows furrowed. “I need to be able to trust you in this or we might both get hurt.” 

“Okay,” Gladio said, struggling to brush aside the last of the fog. He wasn’t sure he entirely understood, even though he could see that it meant a lot to Prompto. Gladio wasn’t hurt by what they did. It was a little painful, but it didn’t _hurt_. If anything, he was more likely to harm Prompto than the other way around. Gladio grimaced. He didn’t want to face reality just yet, a part of him clinging to the freeing daze he’d been enjoying only moments before...

The older man sighed, ruffling his damp hair and smiling ruefully. “Dammit, I really am making a mess of things. We shouldn’t talk about this stuff right after a session. We can talk more later, m’kay? For now, I think we’ve wasted enough time. Your partner is waiting for you.” 

That got his attention, dragging and clawing his way back to full awareness. “Ignis. Shit. What time is it?” 

“Don’t worry, it’s only been about half an hour.” Prompto chuckled a little nervously, his awkward smile doing things to Gladio’s insides that had nothing to do with physical attraction. “Though I’m sure it seems like longer. C’mon, let’s get dressed and head out. I get the feeling it’s going to be a long day.” 

* * *

The sun was just setting when Gladio finally caught up with Ignis, endorphins still zinging through his limbs and jaw aching pleasantly. But the headache was more than worth it as he felt himself finally falling into balance. He had forgotten what it was like not to be constantly on edge. His limbs were loose, a crick in his neck that had been there for longer than he cared to remember gone, and his temper was even, serene. Yeah. He could get used to this. 

He could be patient. He and Prompto had only just gotten together less than twenty four hours ago–had it only been a day? It felt like months had gone by–and even if he was ready to take that step, it was clear as day that Prompto did not feel the same. 

Gladio wasn’t worried, however. At least, he wasn’t worried that Prompto didn’t like him. That was abundantly clear. 

There was something else holding Prompto back, something that he was clearly not ready to talk about. But that was okay. They had time, and Gladio wasn’t the type of guy to push the issue. He would be there for Prompto when he was ready. He was, in fact, willing to wait for as long as it took to prove himself to Prompto and convince him that Gladio was exactly what he wanted. 

Gladio just needed to be better. Show the sides of himself that Prompto seemed to find so irresistible. He could do that. 

When Gladio dismounted his bike, it was to his partner’s thunderous expression. Gladio’s brows rose in surprise at Ignis’ clear ire. Was he late? He glanced at his phone and found that, no, he was three minutes early. “What’s up, Iggy?”

“We have a problem,” Ignis said tightly, and the serious tone of his voice had Gladio on instant alert. 

“What is it?” 

“Noctis is gone.” 

Gladio switched gears immediately, good mood banished in a surge of adrenaline. “What? What the hell do you _mean,_ Noctis is gone?” How was he _gone?_ One didn’t just lose the prince of the second largest Family in Insomnia. Instantly, his mind flooded with worst case scenarios–Noctis getting roofied by some creep, Noctis captured by a rival gang and tortured, Ravus’ thugs shooting him dead on the street...He growled in denial. 

Just when had Gladio begun caring about the man so much? But he couldn’t worry about that now. “Did you try calling him?” he demanded.

Ignis gave him a look and Gladio conceded the point. Alright, fine, dumb question. “Cor contacted me a few minutes ago. According to his father, Noctis disappeared shortly after the change in guard yesterday.” 

Gladio pinched the bridge of his nose, urging his blood pressure down. “Do you think it could have anything to do with the recent attacks?” 

“I don’t know. However, we should assume the worst.” 

“Dammit. What was his detail thinking? Does Cor know about this?” 

Gladio and Ignis weren't the only bodyguards Regis had employed. Noctis had a detail of Glaives on him at all times, three more shifts on top of Gladio and Ignis’ team, the best money could buy. Surely trained professionals that could run laps around Gladio at his current experience level could keep track of one man! 

“I imagine so. It turns out they didn’t want to admit their error and spent all night searching on their own.” 

“Fucking perfect. So what do we do? Wait for orders?” This wasn’t good. If this had anything to do with the recent attacks, Noctis had no way to defend himself. He was too weak, his body wasted from years of abuse no matter how powerful a bloodline he possessed. It was why the Glaives had been hired in the first place!

Ignis was about to answer when he was interrupted by his ringtone. He glanced at the screen before his brows rose. “Your highness,” he said, a note of reprimand in his tone. “Where–” He paused, listening intently. “Understood. We will be there shortly. Are you al–” The dial tone sounded loud enough for Gladio to hear and Ignis glared at his phone in consternation. 

“What was that about?” 

“Apparently, Noctis is at his apartment. He’s ordered us to meet him there at once.” 

Gladio coughed. “He _ordered_ us? Noctis?” 

“Yes,” Ignis said shortly. He peered at Gladio. “He’s our charge, Gladio. I realize you don’t appreciate his lifestyle, but his father is paying us to perform a service. Besides, I’m worried. He sounded terrible...” 

“I don’t dislike him,” Gladio denied distractedly. This wasn’t like Noctis at all. He’d never invited them to his home before, even in his deepest cups preferring to keep its whereabouts a secret. It was no wonder; with the target on his back, it was only prudent. And it wasn’t as if Gladio’s distant and aggressive attitude had inspired confidence. 

Yet he was calling them now. No time for regrets. 

Ignis’ scowl softened. “I know. He’s grown on me as well. Come.” 

Ignis forwent his car and climbed behind Gladio on his motorcycle. With the reassuring weight of his partner against his back, Gladio ignited the engine and they sped downtown, racing toward their charge–and their friend. Gladio didn’t want to contemplate what he would do if something happened to the man...His magic stirred restlessly in his chest. _Nothing_ better have happened to him. 

When they finally reached the place, Gladio had to hold back his surprise. It was upscale, much nicer than the place Gladio lived. But it was nothing close to the ritz that Noctis was accustomed to at the Citadel. Perhaps they had more in common than Gladio thought.

Ignis strode into the building, Gladio on his heels. They weren’t accosted as they made their way up to Noctis’ floor, the security of the building either intimidated by Gladio’s murderous expression or aware of their coming. 

When they finally reached Noctis’ door, Gladio was tempted to kick it in, his protective instincts gnawing at the bit. Ignis, however, was much more rational as he knocked on the door with three sharp raps, holding frightfully still as if to counteract Gladio’s restlessness. 

No one answered. 

They exchanged a look before Ignis tried the door knob. It opened easily. Alarm bells were going off in Gladio’s head, clattering for his attention– _why was the door unlocked?_ –but that was nothing compared to the adrenaline that hit him nearly as hard as the wall of _rot_ that assaulted their senses upon entering. 

The inside of the apartment was a nightmare. Trash lined the walls, dishes and garbage piled high on the kitchen counter and every available surface. The high rise apartment was practically destroyed by neglect. Gladio was tempted to cover his face to fight off the smell, but he had to use his nose to find out what the hell was going on. 

“Noct! You in here?” Gladio called, before muttering under his breath. Why had things been allowed to get this bad? Didn’t Noctis have anyone taking care of him? 

Ignis grabbed his arm and Gladio looked down into his pinched face. “Gladio. I smell illness.” 

“No shit,” Gladio muttered, breathing through his mouth as much as possible. 

Carefully picking their way through the refuse, they finally found Noctis in his bedroom. The large room was just as destroyed as the rest of the place, clothes discarded everywhere, garbage piled against the walls and barely eaten food rotting at the bedside tables. And in the center of the large four poster bed, Noctis lay curled into himself, lying on a filthy comforter drenched in his own sweat and molten feathers. His wings were crumpled beneath him awkwardly, painfully, as if he hadn’t had the strength to fold them before he collapsed. His cell lay on the edge of the bed, just out of his reach.

Gladio stood frozen as Ignis went instantly to Noctis’ side.

The man was thin, incredibly so. Gladio hadn’t noticed it before now because of the loose shirts he liked to wear, but he was _thin._ Skeletal. His slim form shook and his eyes were glassy as they passed over them, flinching when he realized he was not alone. 

“Ignis,” he croaked. 

“I’m here,” Ignis said with bewildered distress. He brushed Noctis’ matted hair aside as he carefully set him upright against his pillows, moving him away from the soaked sheets and helping his trembling wings into a more natural position. 

“What the hell happened to you?” Gladio said blankly. Then his brow darkened. “What sort of crap have you been putting into your body now? Did you overdose on something?” 

Noctis coughed weakly, clearing his throat. “N-no, I–”

But Gladio didn’t want to hear it, anger and dismay tightening his throat. “No, I can’t believe this, Noctis. I can’t _believe_ you let things get this bad! Do you have any idea what’s been going on? You could have been killed. Your Glaives could have been killed trying to find you!” He looked around the apartment, a lump of guilt forming in his throat. “Why didn't you tell us you were living like this?” he said, voice dropping to a whisper. They could have helped him! But...Noctis probably didn’t know that. How could he, when all Gladio had been doing was snapping and snarling and ignoring him? He’d seen the signs. He knew Noctis was struggling. But he’d been too caught up in his own shit to realize that someone he was starting to care for was wasting away to nothing right before his eyes. 

“Gladio,” Ignis said warningly. 

Noctis looked stricken, dull blues flashing in dismay. “Yes, I’m aware. But–” he looked down, voice lowering. “I’m calling you now.” 

Gladio’s jaw clicked shut. Ignis looked equally stunned. “Why us?” Ignis asked gently.

Noctis ran a shaking hand through his lank hair. “Because…I guess because you guys were the only ones who ever called me out on my shit. I…” he took a deep breath, and, more seriously than Gladio had ever heard from the usually lackadaisical man, he said, “Some things have come to light recently. It’s like this whole time, I’ve been sleeping. Living in a haze. But...I’m awake now. I want to make amends.”

“Make amends? What have you done?” Gladio looked around. “Besides harming yourself, I mean?”

Noctis’ lips quirked self-deprecatingly. “Ten years ago, I turned my back on my birthright. I was afraid of becoming my father, I guess, and–maybe a little afraid of taking on his war. But my father is weakening, and Aldercapt’s Family is getting stronger by the day. I’ve avoided my responsibilities long enough.” 

Gladio didn’t know what to say to that. Was that the truth? He’d heard rumors, of course, but only hearsay. The escalating violence, the attacks, the rumblings in the darkest corners of the undercity. Did it all mean that war was coming? 

“What brought you to this conclusion, if I may ask?” Ignis said with a frown. 

This time Noctis’ smile was much more genuine. “I met someone who needed my help.” 

Ignis and Gladio exchanged a look. “Who?” 

“That would be me,” came a quiet voice from the doorway, and Ignis and Gladio tensed as a slim woman glided through the door. Gladio was moving in an instant, blocking both Noctis and Ignis from the person he hadn’t sensed coming at all. The stink of the apartment must have masked her presence. 

She paused a few steps into the room as a vision in white–pristine against the dissonance. Gladio instantly recognized her as the Fox daemon who Noctis had been hanging around with for weeks. Yet she seemed different, her torn jeans and revealing shirts replaced by a slimming white dress. There was a quiet nobility about her now that Gladio couldn’t believe he’d missed before. She was clearly not the woman he thought she was, and it seemed that another thing had slipped by Gladio’s notice in his self-centered distraction. 

Noctis had been behaving differently ever since he met her. How had Gladio been so blind? 

Gladio bared his teeth, shoulders squaring menacingly, but the woman didn’t seem intimidated in the least. She looked...sad, her light eyes filled with remorse Gladio didn’t understand. “I am the one who sought Noctis,” she said in her lilting, beguiling voice. Gladio steeled himself against it, distrustful of the woman who’d been deceiving them all this time. “I came because I needed his help. But when I found him, I realized that he needed mine more.” 

“And who exactly _are_ you?” Ignis said coldly, a protective hand placed on Noctis’ emaciated shoulder. 

The woman bit her lip, eyes averting with something like guilt and Gladio felt a niggling suspicion. No. It couldn't be... But he could see that Ignis had come to the very same conclusion he had. 

“It’s alright,” Noctis addressed her softly, placing his slim fingers over Ignis’ hand. The younger man cut him a glance before glaring back at the woman. “They won’t harm you.” 

The Fox nodded once, then seemed to steel herself, looking them both in the eye. “My name is Lunafreya Nox Fleuret.” 

It suddenly all made a sick sort of sense. Gladio’s expression darkened as his suspicions were confirmed. _“You._ You’re the one who’s been causing all this. Your brother’s been attacking and _killing_ us because he thought we were holding you against your will!”

To her credit, Lunafreya did not flinch at his harsh tone. 

“It’s not her fault,” Noctis asserted before sagging back into his pillows with a cough. Lunafreya looked like she wanted to rush to his side, but held her ground, lower lip pinched between white teeth. 

“What’s wrong with you?” Gladio asked Noctis, momentarily distracted as the prince once again seemed to lose all his strength. “Have you been poisoned? Drugged? You look way worse than usual.” 

“Gee, thanks,” Noctis laughed weakly. “Not drugged. Withdrawals.” 

“With–” Gladio narrowed his eyes and–against his better judgement because _man_ it reeked–inhaled deeply. Sure enough, beneath the garbage and rot and sickness, Gladio couldn’t smell a single drop of alcohol in Noctis’ blood. Gladio had never noticed just how sweet his scent was beneath the sour booze. “You’re really quitting?” 

“Yes,” Noctis answered, waving away Ignis fussing and regaining his composure. “Like I said, I’m going to make amends.”

“Right.” Gladio looked back to Lunafreya. “And what do you have to do with all of this?”

Lunafreya straightened. “I came seeking Noctis’ help. My people have been suffering under Niflheim’s thumb for a decade, and Aldercapt’s cruelty and ambition are only growing. I had hoped that if I allied myself with the Caelum Family, I may be able to save them. However…” she looked at Noctis sadly, “What I found was a man beneath the spell of addiction, crying out for aid on deaf ears. My mission ground to a halt when I decided to help him.” 

“I see. And I’m sure it’s altruism that guides you,” Ignis said dryly. Gladio couldn’t help but agree. If Lunafreya cured Noctis of his addiction and compelled him to his birthright, then she would undoubtedly get the aid she needed. 

But Noctis laughed. “I would have thought so too, but when we first met she had no idea who I was.” 

Lunafreya smiled fondly, seeming to forget for a moment how dangerous her situation was. “You were quite adept at hiding your true self from me.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t want to run you off,” Noctis smirked. Gladio couldn't believe what he was seeing now that he knew who Lunafreya was. Noctis Lucis Caelum was dating a Fleuret. It was truly a circumstance of star crossed lovers. 

“Well, I’ll be damned,” Gladio mumbled, peering between the two. It appeared that he wasn’t the only one who’d found his mate in the most unlikely of places. 

Dammit, he believed them. 

Gladio relaxed and stepped aside, and Noctis let out a subtle sigh of relief. 

“Your derailed plans aside,” Ignis said, ever the pragmatist, “we still must deal with Ravus. He believes you are being held against your will, and you will accomplish nothing by sparking a civil war earlier than you planned. He may very well condemn your people if he continues to attack the Caelum Family without cause.”

“It is not without cause,” Lunafreya said darkly, “and I am not his only motivation.” 

“What do you mean?” 

It was Noctis that answered. “Ravus has reason to hate me and my father personally. Twelve years ago, the day the war began, we were closing a deal with the Fleuret Family. Sylva Via Fleuret was head of the Family at the time. Niflheim attacked…” he trailed off, looking to Lunafreya with an old guilt in his eyes. She smiled wanly, accepting. “I was injured. My father saved me at the expense of the Fleurets. The surviving members were absorbed into Niflheim soon after.” Noctis took a deep breath, shaking off his melancholy to say in a much more neutral tone, “Aside from that, Aldercapt has been attempting to reignite the war for some years now. He’s likely using Ravus’ grudge and Lunafreya’s disappearance as an excuse to end the truce. Ravus is merely a tool.” 

That would explain Ravus’ resources, Gladio mused. He bit the inside of his cheek, considering. This was bad. Way worse than he thought. A war between the Families would mean a bloodbath for all the denizens of Insomnia. Last time it had happened entire houses had been wiped out completely, businesses destroyed, and unprecedented poverty plagued the undercity. Insomnia still hadn’t entirely recovered years later. He’d never truly understood Aldercapt’s mad grasp for complete dominance, not when the cost was so high. But the truth remained that it was what he desired, and it was obvious enough he was willing to sacrifice anything to achieve it. 

That all made an awful sort of sense.

Something still bothered Gladio, though. 

“Why did Ravus send his thugs after me, then?” 

“I believe I may be able to answer that,” Ignis said, pushing his glasses further onto his nose. “If my information is correct, only those closest to Noctis have been specifically targeted.”

“Yeah,” Noctis affirmed. “I’ve already lost several of my personal guards and I understand that a few of your people have gotten caught in the crossfire as well. I don’t have any particularly close friends, so…” he smiled wanly, and Gladio felt a twinge of sympathy. 

“You have us,” Gladio said firmly. 

“Indeed,” Ignis backed him up, drawing the stunned prince’s gaze. 

“We are here for you, Noctis,” Lunafreya said gently, taking his hand in hers.

For several seconds, Noctis worked his jaw, unable to speak as he looked between all of them. Then every line of him softened at once, a sincere smile gracing his face and making him look years younger. A glimmer of light caught in the corner of his eye. “Thanks guys...” 

After a long, silent moment where Gladio wasn't entirely certain he wasn’t going to cry, he cleared his throat roughly. “Right. Let’s clean this place up, for starters.” 

Ignis snorted inelegantly, breaking the remaining tension. “As if you know anything about keeping clean.” 

“Hey, I resent that. So my kitchen gets a bit dirty sometimes. I’m way better than his royal slob.”

Noctis offered a small chuckle, taking the teasing with grace. “I’d appreciate the help,” he said instead of denying it. 

“About time,” Lunfreya said teasingly. “I’ve been trying to convince you to let me clean since I first found you here.” 

Noctis grinned sheepishly and shrugged. 

“Right,” Ignis rolled up his sleeves. “Direct me to the cleaning supplies, if you would.” 

“Uh. Cleaning supplies?” 

“Oh dear. This is going to be a long night.” 

Gladio laughed, slapping his partner on the back and letting Ignis’ automatic glare roll right off his broad shoulders. Time to start setting things right. 

* * *

# Part 5

When Gladio finally returned to his apartment, it was well into the early hours of the morning. He groaned as he walked through the door, pressing it closed and leaning against it with a tired sigh. He wrinkled his nose. Ugh. All he could smell was garbage. Noctis really owed him one for all the work they did fixing up his disgusting apartment. 

Gladio’s expression softened as he stared at the floor without seeing it. He could hardly believe everything he’d learned today. Noctis was quitting–quitting! And he was going to become head of the Caelum Family at last. It warmed Gladio from the inside out to see a man he was very much starting to like becoming what he was always meant to be. The more time he spent around Noctis while he was sober, the more he came to realize just how glad he was that he was finally getting to know the real Noctis; the one he only ever caught glimpses of in the rare moments he was aware of himself and his surroundings. 

Once Noctis’ apartment was clean, the three of them made sure that Noctis himself was cleaned up. Ignis finally got to sink his fingers into those wings of his, ones whose sorry state Ignis had been complaining about since the moment he’d first laid eyes on their charge. One session was not about to restore their natural luminescent sheen, but Ignis gave it an excellent start, ignoring the prince’s occasional grimace of discomfort with tuts and muttered _‘If you took care of them in the first place, highness…’_

Gladio did something about that ridiculous mop on Noctis’ head and Lunafreya–or Luna, as she seemed to prefer–filed down his ragged claws before all three of them forced him into a proper bath. Noctis, of course, took it with ill grace, but conceded beneath Ignis’ stern glare. Gladio smirked in amusement. He wouldn't be surprised if Ignis decided never to leave the older man alone for the rest of his life. He always was one to take in strays. 

When Ignis and Gladio finally vacated Noctis’ cleaned apartment and left Noctis to rest in Luna’s capable hands, it...had been good. Real good. He’d never seen the man so content, and while withdrawals still shook through his limbs, Noctis had a tired, genuine smile on his face as Luna laid him down to sleep.

Gladio grinned as he levered himself upright, brushing back his disheveled hair as he made his way to the bathroom. 

By the time he’d cleaned up and eaten a bland meal, Gladio was exhausted. He stumbled into his room, fully intending to collapse on his bed and pass right out. 

He stopped short, surprised to find that he was not alone. “Prompto?” he rumbled, happiness bubbling behind his sternum. He had not expected the illusive man to be back so soon!

Prompto sat in the windowsill, eyes downcast and thoughts clearly elsewhere. For once he was dressed casually, a dark pair of slacks sitting low on his hips and a button down resting open against his collarbone. The sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, showing off lean muscle and a multitude of scars. One hand rested against the opposite wrist, idly fiddling with his wristwatch. 

Gladio drank him in greedily as he made his slow way around the bed. The gold of the streetlights below was warm on Prompto’s already warm skin, glinting off his darkened eyes and casting shadows over his sharp features. When he came to a stop in front of him, Prompto finally looked up, his hand stopping its fidgeting and coming to rest against his raised leg. 

Gladio’s smile fell as Prompto didn’t seem to recognize him for several seconds. Then the older man blinked rapidly, coming back to himself. 

“Uh, hi! S-sorry, I didn't hear you come in.”

Gladio raised a brow. He’d been here for half an hour already. The only reason he hadn’t realized Prompto was here was because his scent was already everywhere. Prompto’s senses might have been dull, but there was no way he wouldn't notice Gladio taking a shower and rummaging around in the fridge. “Right. Must have been something big on your mind.” 

Prompto’s eyes darkened before he visibly shook it off. His lips lifted in a half smile. “It’s really late. I was getting worried.” 

Warmth suffused Gladio’s chest. “That’s the only reason you’re here? How did you get in here anyway?” 

“Well…” Prompto rubbed his neck. His eyes flickered to the window and he shrugged. “I usually check up on you around this time. I just usually, you know...don’t come in.”

Gladio bit his lip, wondering why he wasn’t bothered by that. He glanced out into the night, to the nook where he sometimes suspected someone could reach, but shrugged. “Well, I’m glad you stopped by. I didn’t expect to see you again so soon.” 

“Yeah, well…” Prompto relaxed, realizing that Gladio wasn’t about to get mad. “I wanted to see you.” 

“Hm,” Gladio rumbled, “And here I am.” Leaning down, he took Prompto’s jaw gently into his palm and pressed their lips together, enjoying the way the older man seemed to melt. 

Only to ruin it by letting out a massive yawn in Prompto’s face. 

Prompto grimaced, shoving Gladio away. “Ugh! Gross! Dog breath!” 

Gladio chuckled, standing upright again. “I just brushed my teeth, drama queen. Why does everyone keep comparing me to a dog?” 

Prompto only smiled as he too got to his feet. He looked Gladio over critically before snagging his waistband and steering him onto the bed. Gladio went easily, loving the way Prompto’s bare hands felt on his skin, even if he was too tired to really get aroused by it. “You’re tired. Sleep.”

“Alright,” Gladio agreed, though he dearly wished he actually had the energy to fool around. But this was nice too. “Will you stay with me tonight? Or would you rather watch from the window?” 

“Ha ha,” Prompto drawled. “I’ll join you on that lovely bed of yours...that is, if you don’t mind?” 

“Nothing I would love more,” Gladio said immediately, shuffling beneath the covers and holding them up invitingly. 

Prompto laughed at his eager display, removing his slacks obligingly and climbing in. Gladio shuddered as his warm body slotted against his, wishing again that he had more energy. But alas, he was at his limit for the day. In the morning maybe…

He sighed happily and wriggled down the bed until he could rest his head against Prompto’s shoulder, loving the way the older man’s arms wrapped around him automatically. “Let me guess,” Prompto said lightly, his voice vibrating through Gladio, “You like being the little spoon.” 

Gladio huffed. “Never thought about it. But it sounds nice.” He tried to imagine it, but couldn’t really reconcile their size difference. His lips twitched in amusement, exhaustion dragging his thoughts. At least he didn’t have wings in his way. Noctis could never be the little spoon. “Poor Noctis. Luna would make a great big spoon…” he said nonsensically, sleep already dragging him into unconsciousness. 

Prompto tensed beneath him, making Gladio grumble. He tried to open his eyes, but they were stuck for some reason. “Lunafreya?” Prompto said quietly. He almost sounded shocked. 

“Hm, yeah, we found her. Turns out she’s been hanging out with Noctis all this time.” Gladio ran his hand over Prompto’s chest, trying to get his pillow to relax. His mate’s heartbeat was way too fast for sleep time. “Hm. Ma..te…”

“Gladio, wait. Lunafreya is _here?_ Gladio–” 

But Gladio was already asleep. 

Prompto stared down at him with wide eyes, heart racing in his chest. “Oh no. Oh, this is not good…why does she have to be with _him,_ of all people...Luna, what are you _doing?”_ He looked out the window, arms tightening around Gladio’s broad shoulders. He had to head this off before it got out of hand. He only hoped he wasn’t too late. 

When dawn came, Gladio woke alone, the sheets cold and the lingering scent of sunshine on his skin. Prompto was gone.

* * *

“Focus, Gladio,” Ignis reprimanded.

Gladio grunted, not bothering to respond. His chin rested heavily on his palm as he gazed out the window into the quiet city below. A sharp rap on his shoulder had him jerking to attention. “What? What is it?”

“You’ve been spacing out all morning,” Noctis said from his seat at the counter of his kitchen. He looked infinitely better today, though exhaustion still clearly clung to his limbs and dragged down his wings. 

They were in Noctis’ apartment again, trying to come up with a solution to their little ‘Ravus problem’. Though it wasn’t particularly going anywhere, much to Gladio’s growing frustration. The sharp odor of bleach and cleaning fluids stung his nose, sharpening his growing headache. If it wasn't so bloody cold outside, he would have opened the window ages ago.

“I still don’t see why we aren’t bringing Cor into this,” Gladio complained. “Or hell, your father, Noct. Shouldn’t you tell him about all of this? It’s not like we’re going to realistically be able to do much on our own. What do you expect, that we’ll somehow find and convince Ravus to ‘stop attacking us, please’?”

“We’ve been over this, Gladio,” Noctis sighed. “We can’t tell anyone about this without causing a war.” 

“I don’t buy it,” Gladio grumbled, glaring back out the window. “Someone is going to find out eventually. When they do, it’s not going to be pretty.” 

“Gladio does have a point,” Ignis said reasonably. “We can’t afford to wait for Ravus to find _us_. There’s no telling what he would do if he caught us unawares. Backup would be prudent.” 

Noctis folded his hands, fiddling with the ring around his finger. “I still can’t believe he’s going after me like this. After all this time...what changed?” A pale hand landed gently on his shoulder and Noctis covered it with his own, his hard expression softening. 

“I’m afraid that would be my fault,” Luna said softly. Gladio’s eyes flickered to them before he stared back out into the waning light. “If I hadn’t left home…” 

“There’s no use in blaming yourself now,” Gladio said. “We just have to deal with the consequences.” 

“Can your people be trusted to take care of this discreetly?” Noctis asked. 

Gladio scoffed in disbelief, but it was Ignis who answered. “Yes highness. We are the best. It is why your father hired us.” 

“Hm. Yeah. Also had something to do with Clarus Amicitia. Apparently they were great friends…” Noctis trailed off, before seeming to realize himself. “Ah, sorry. I just meant.”

“It’s fine,” Gladio said without looking. He hadn't been much bothered by the mention of his father’s death in years. He’d only been twelve after all. Time had long healed his wounds. 

After a few beats of awkward silence, the conversation resumed.

“So what are we going to tell him exactly?”

“The truth,” Ignis replied. “The Marshal will be best suited to find our quarry. I daresay he has many more connections than Gladio or I.” 

“Alright. I’ll trust your judgement. We’ll need to…”

Gladio stopped paying attention as they began to talk details, mind drifting again. Ignis wasn’t wrong. He had been distracted, and not just because of the awful smell.

Prompto hadn’t come around in three days. 

It wasn’t as if Gladio was completely dependent on him. It wasn’t that he expected Prompto to always be there. But well. He _had_ been. Whether Gladio had noticed or not, Prompto had been a constant presence in his life for weeks, and now he was just...gone. No word. Not even a note.

It had only been three days. Yet, to Gladio, it felt like an eternity. 

Perhaps he would have chalked it up to being lonely after only just finding his perfect match, but something about Prompto’s disappearance this time put Gladio on edge. There was an unsettled feeling in his gut, as if the precarious peace of their lives was about to end. Not surprising that he would feel this way; Ravus was out there somewhere waiting to strike for whatever ends.

But it was more than that. Something about the way Prompto looked at him just before he fell asleep bothered Gladio. He wished now he’d paid more attention, but crying over it now wasn’t going to solve anything. With how exhausted he’d been, he was surprised he’d managed to talk to Prompto at all. He just wished he knew what had spooked the man…

A flicker of movement caught Gladio’s eye from outside. He blinked, coming out of his thoughts abruptly. For a few seconds there was nothing...but Gladio wasn’t one to ignore his gut feelings. Something was wrong.

Ignis came to his side immediately, silencing Noctis with a raised hand when he sensed his partner’s tension. “What is it?”

Gladio narrowed his eyes, scanning the building opposite and the street below. Both appeared deserted. “I don’t know,” he said slowly. He couldn’t spot what had caught his attention, but whatever it was, it didn't feel friendly. “Ignis.” 

Ignis nodded once before about facing and walking briskly to Noctis’ side. “Come, highness, my lady. We need to move into the office where there are no windows.”

“What? Why? What’s going on?” Noctis said, alarmed. He got to his feet, only wobbling a little with Ignis’ steady support. 

Gladio was already on his feet, scanning the room. His heart jumped in his chest, unease darkening his eyes. He inhaled deeply, but exhaled in a pained huff at the sharp smell of antiseptic. Dammit! Exactly how thorough had Ignis been? He could barely smell anything. 

“No time to explain,” Ignis said, no nonsense. “We need to go. Now.” 

“What’s the rush?” A dark voice came from the front door, and Gladio was moving in an instant, nearly breaking a barstool as he leapt in front of Noctis and the others. Reacting just as quickly, Ignis did the same, pushing the shocked royals behind him. 

“Ravus,” Luna breathed, paling visibly. To her credit, her voice did not tremble, though she clearly feared the man.

Ravus Nox Fleuret materialized in a cloud of black mist, his illusion dropping as he revealed himself. Just as his sister, he wore all white save for the black gleam of his metal arm. It was of cruel design; more a weapon than a limb. About it lingered an aura of foreboding and an energy Gladio did not recognize. Gladio eyed it warily, disturbed, before glaring into Ravus’ pale face.

“Hello sister,” the man acknowledged from his casual perch against the door. His tone was cutting, and Gladio did not allow his lackadaisical stance to disarm him. Slowly, Gladio’s hand inched to his side, magic building in his arm to summon Duskbreaker. 

“Nah-ah,” Ravus drawled, lifting his false hand. The foreboding energy intensified, standing Gladio’s hair on end and casting long shadows over Ravus’ face. “Don’t even try it, mutt.” 

“What do you want, Ravus.” 

Voice deepening and canines flashing, Ravus said darkly, “I want what is _mine.”_

“Say that again!” Noctis snarled, jaw clenching with fury. The only thing that prevented him from making good on the violence in his eyes was Ignis’ cautionary hand.

Ravus’ gaze passed over Noctis with loathing. “You will not speak in my presence, filth. You squander your life away in squalor, ignoring your duties, and now you’ve kidnapped my sister.” He took in Noctis’ poor state with a sneer. “How I despised you for years after you murdered our mother. But to see you now, I can’t help but pity you.” 

“You’re wrong,” Luna said with a note of steel, stepping around Noctis’ tense form. “It is we who deserve pity. How much longer will you hold a grudge against the Caelums while the real murderer is the one that holds our leash?”

Ravus bared his teeth, mania shining in his too bright eyes. “I see you have been led astray by these low-lifes. You will come with me now and be _grateful_ that I do not turn you over to Aldercapt for this disrespect.” 

Luna’s face hardened even as her three friends tensed for a fight. “I will do no such thing. This has to end, Ravus. I will not see you nor our people enslaved by that monster any longer.” 

Ravus hissed and took a threatening step forward. “You will do as you are told!” 

“Enough!” Noctis said sharply. His shoulders straightened, atrophied wings rising threateningly despite their tremors. “Leave. Now.” 

Ravus curled his lip in disdain. “Pathetic. I will take back what is mine, and you three will receive the end you deserve!”

“Go ahead and try it!” Gladio shouted, at the end of his patience. It was far from ideal. There just wasn’t enough space for him to summon his weapon, but he raised his fists anyway, readying himself for hand-to-hand and hoping he’d be able to hold his own against that wicked arm.

But it was Noctis who made the first move. With an enraged shout, the Raven launched himself at Ravus, claws extended and teeth bared as if he intended to rip out the intruder’s throat. Gladio staggered as he and Ignis were knocked aside by Noctis’ unexpected fury. 

“Noctis, wait!” Luna cried, but it was too late. Ravus barely reacted, yet his mechanical hand lifted to intercept as if it had a mind of its own.

Time slowed. Adrenaline burst in Gladio’s veins as he saw the cruel, dagger-like fingers close around Noctis’ vulnerable throat, snatching him out of the air with a triumphant sneer. Somewhere to the side, Luna cried out in denial.

Gladio saw red. “No!” 

Gladio launched himself at Ravus, fangs ripping through his gums so quickly he tasted blood as his magic snapped angrily. Ravus’ eyes widened and he had no choice but to release Noctis so he could defend himself. Noctis fell to his knees with a wheeze as Ravus and Gladio collided in a clash of snarling teeth and rending claws. 

“Ravus! Stop this!” Luna cried, but there was no acknowledgement from her enraged brother. Gladio struggled to hold onto the snapping and snarling Fox daemon, Ravus’ vision narrowed into furious slits and claws ripping across Gladio’s skin harshly enough to draw blood through his shield. They crashed into the granite countertop, shattering it beneath their force of their struggles. Ravus was strong, frightfully so; yet not as strong as Gladio, and he knew it. It made him fight all the harder, with a manic desperation that held Gladio off balance. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Gladio made sure that his three friends were well out of harm’s way. Ignis shifted back and forth for an opening, but could do little to help in so tight a space with friend and foe so closely intertwined. “Gladio! We need to get out of here!” 

“Go!” Gladio shouted, grunting in pain as Ravus attempted to claw his eyes out, just narrowly missing with a vicious scratch over his brow. Blood streamed down his face, reddening his vision. “Get them out of here and call Cor!” 

“I won’t leave you–” 

_“Now, Ignis!”_

With a hiss, Ignis pushed Lunafreya and the still recovering Noctis toward the door while Gladio pinned the wild Fleuret to the ground. But Ravus only laughed, a note of hysteria in his voice and mirth that didn't reach his eyes. “No help is coming to you now! They’re all _dead!”_

Shock froze Gladio’s heart for one terrible moment. 

It was all Ravus needed. With impossible strength and a cloud of black, unnatural magic, Ravus threw Gladio from him. Gladio saw stars as he slammed into the wall, drywall cracking around him in a flurry of stinging dust. Breathless, he could only gasp in denial as Ravus lifted his arm, his aberrant magic raising Gladio’s hackles. It gathered in his hand aimed right for Noctis’ heart. 

“No!” Gladio shouted hoarsely, adrenaline forcing his stunned body into action. He had no idea what that strange magic would do but he sure as hell knew that _he would not let it touch his pack._ He slammed into Ravus’ side, throwing off his aim at the last moment. The magic percussed the air sickeningly, near ripping the air from their lungs and blasting into the ceiling. Noctis cried out, throwing himself over Luna’s slim form as Ignis did the same for him, the two men taking the brunt of the debris as dry wall and furniture from the floor above flooded the apartment. Dust filled the air, obscuring the three companions from Gladio’s sight. 

Gladio didn’t have time to worry, however. Ravus slammed his elbow into Gladio’s temple with vicious precision and he reeled, spots flashing in his eyes. But he did not let up on his grip, would not let Ravus harm _one more person he loved!_ Gotta get him out of here, away from the others…! Gladio forced them forward another few steps. Ravus struck him again and _again_ but he could do nothing but scream in denial as Gladio shoved him with all of his considerable strength. 

“Gladio..!” Ignis coughed, staggering to his feet, struggling to see through the dust. “Gladio, what are you doing? Gladio!” 

But Gladio had no time to explain. This was going to _hurt._

He only had a split second to think _‘fuck’_ before they were crashing through the shattered window. For one sickening moment they hung suspended in the frozen winter air, Ravus’ face pulled with shock, before they plummeted to the ground twenty stories below. 

Someone screamed his name, but the only thing Gladio registered was the rushing of his blood and the spitting and snarling daemon in his unyielding grasp. If he was going down, he was taking this fucker with him!

Then his arms were abruptly empty as–to Gladio’s biting frustration–Ravus disappeared in a puff of black and a wrathful sneer. Gladio could only brace himself with an infuriated shout, the ground coming up to catch him fast. 

Yet it was not the unforgiving ground that caught him. A flurry of feathers and slim pair of arms jerked him from his deadly plummet and he was abruptly airborne. Gladio’s eyes snapped open as he lurched to a stop, trying and failing to make sense of what the hell was going on while his stomach attempted to force its way out of his throat. He looked up. 

Noctis’ pale face greeted him, splotchy with effort and pain. His wings were spread wide into a tenuous glide, dull feathers just barely catching the air. “Noct! What the _fuck_ are you doing?” He couldn’t possibly carry Gladio’s weight, even at his full strength. He was lucky his wings hadn’t shattered from the strain! As it was, they looked seconds from folding and sending them both plummeting the last few stories to the unyielding concrete. 

“Saving your _life,_ dumbass!” the older man snapped, voice painfully thin. Gladio’s stomach swooped as they wobbled in the air, the weakened prince crying out as one of his wings crumpled. With a monumental effort he righted them, angling them towards the ground for a rough landing. 

Gladio cursed explosively, twisting around in Noctis’ weak grip and holding him against his chest as best he could. Noctis couldn't do anything to stop him as Gladio tucked his fool head into his chest and poured as much magic into his shield as he could. 

They hit the ground. Hard. Concrete crumbled beneath the force of his magic that cushioned their fall only enough so that their bones didn't shatter. Dust settled around them.

For several moments, Gladio could do little but try to force air into his battered lungs, arms still tightly wrapped around Noctis’ trembling body. The prince’s wings had fallen limply at their sides, spent. 

“You–fucking–idiot!” Gladio gasped. “You could have gotten yourself killed!” 

“Y-yeah, well,” Noctis wheezed. “I couldn’t just let you die.” 

Gladio shook his head and held him tighter. “I wouldn’t have died, you heroic _asshole._ My magic would have protected me!”

“...Oh.” Noctis slumped further into Gladio’s hold, flinching as his strained wings were jostled. “Oops.” 

Gladio’s chest welled with more than just the pain from the fall, but he didn’t have the time to parse out his emotions. His hair stood on end and he jerked them away, just barely getting Noctis out of the way before the concrete exploded behind them. 

“You insufferable beast! I should have ended you while I had the chance!” Ravus snarled, stalking from a cloud of shadows, false arm clenched in front of his chest like a threat. Gladio shoved Noctis as far from him as he could before facing the menace. Bloodlust rose within him, crowding his throat and stirring his now diminished magic. That fall had taken a lot out of him. Too much. But at least now he had more space to maneuver. 

“Your goons sure gave it their best shot,” he drawled, Duskbreaker materializing in his hand, a comforting weight against his palm. He pointed it at Ravus’ smug face. “But they’re not here to protect you now!” 

But if Ravus was intimidated he did not show it. His grin was cruel as he shot back, “Oh, they had bigger fish to fry. Soon enough all of you worthless Glaives will be wiped out, if they aren’t already. Then there will be nothing stopping Niflheim from wiping out the Caelum Family as they deserve!”

Gladio’s throat clenched, but he would not let himself be goaded. He couldn’t. He had to believe that Cor and the others would make it. Something dark and dangerous uncoiled in his chest, burning its way out in a grating growl. His body ached. His magic thrashed and hissed, and rising bile coating the back of his tongue. His friends and family were in danger and hurting, possibly even dead, and it was all this fuckers’ fault. He wanted to _tear him apart._

Some distant part of Gladio recognized the danger he was in of losing control, but a large part of him was too angry to care. 

At least Prompto was safe somewhere far, far from here. 

Summoning what little articulation he had left, he demanded, “Get the fuck away from Noctis and Luna and crawl back to the godsforsaken pit you came from!” 

“How dare you!” Ravus’ eyes flashed crimson, black magic leaking down his face like tainted tears. The lights flickered around them, darkening the street, and Gladio staggered. This was getting dangerous. Where the fuck was Ignis? “You filth bewitch my sister then have the _audacity_ to dismiss me! I will destroy you all!” 

He leapt forward in a splintering of angry magic, nearly forcing Gladio back with its intensity. But Gladio’s instincts took over and his sword was in front of him before conscious thought. A thin, wicked blade clashed with his, roiling black against gleaming crimson serrations. Their swords squealed as they came apart, the sound tearing at Gladio’s ears and sending blinding sparks into the frigid air. 

Gladio understood his miscalculation a moment later. 

Because where Ravus lacked in strength he made up for in speed, and now that they had more room to maneuver, Gladio was suddenly hard pressed to keep up. 

Ravus was a blur of pearl, flashes of white against the dark, and Gladio cried out as he was struck again and again, unable to get an edge on someone far faster than he. While Ravus could not penetrate his shield entirely, his long sword pressed in and cut mercilessly against his skin, just strong enough to press the wicked edge through and into Gladio’s flesh. Gladio’s vision hazed with red as he growled in frustration. He couldn’t beat this magic user on his own. Ravus was too fast!

“Gladio!” Ignis called, and suddenly he was there, forcing Ravus back with spinning poison daggers. Ravus jumped away, assessing the new threat. 

Gladio gasped and fell to one knee. Ignis took a stance in front of him, skin rippling with emerald scales and crossed daggers gleaming in the wan light. “Are you alright?” he said tightly. 

“Yeah,” Gladio said, getting to his feet and elated to see his partner alright, but more winded than he could afford. His magic screamed at him from overuse, strained by his fall and his waning control. But he could still fight. He had to.

“Good,” Ignis said with a fierce grin. “Let’s teach this upstart his place.”

Gladio actually laughed, hefting Duskbreaker, ready to strike. “You got it, Iggy.” 

Ignis jumped back as Gladio rushed forward. Ravus’ eyes widened as Ignis began throwing volley after volley of poisoned darts, limiting his movements. It forced him to face Gladio head on while Gladio’s back was protected by his partner. Anger, frustration, then desperation cycled on Ravus’ face as he found himself hard pressed to fend off the both of them. Gladio and Ignis were a well oiled machine, dancing about each other, covering the other’s back, and switching out when Ravus seemed to gain the upper hand. He couldn't compete with the combined forces of Gladio’s great sword and Ignis’ seemingly endless repertoire of daggers and wicked needles. 

Together, they were pushing him back. But Gladio was reaching his limit. Every breath felt like a thousand needles in his throat. Every clash of their swords felt like a dagger to his arms. His magic spluttered and strained, ripping him apart from the inside and he could taste copper on the back of his tongue. He couldn’t hold out for much longer, and it didn’t appear that Ravus was waning at all, whatever magic he’d used to escape their fall sustaining him still and with every strike he seemed to become more beast than man. Black slick ran continuously from his eyes and mouth now, the foul odor of dark magic clogging Gladio’s nostrils and making him gag.

It was as if nothing fazed the tainted Fox; nothing could distract him from his single minded drive to destroy them all. 

Nothing but his sister. 

“Ravus!” Luna’s clear voice pierced the sounds of battle, and Ravus twitched, some part of him not drowned with darkness reacting to her voice. That was all Gladio needed. With a roar, he slammed his pomel into Ravus’ forehead. 

Ravus crumpled like a stack of cards, and lay still. 

For several tense moments, Gladio didn’t move, breathing harshly where he stood. His vision narrowed, instincts screaming through him still–to fall upon the fallen warrior; to _rip out his heart_ for attacking his pack.

“Gladio, don’t kill him,” Ignis cautioned immediately through his own exhaustion. “If he dies, it may very well start the war.” 

Gladio struggled with himself for a moment before he grunted and spit in the fallen man’s general direction. “If he hasn’t already started one, the lunatic.” 

“My dad wouldn’t let that happen,” Noctis said lowly. He’d somehow managed to get to his feet, though one of his wings hung awkwardly from his shoulder, clearly injured. But Noctis was indeed standing, using a worried Luna for support. “He wants peace above all else. So do I. Even if Ravus may not deserve our mercy.” 

Gladio straightened slowly, then nodded once, his spent limbs heavy at his sides and his sword dissipating. He winced as he forced his magic back, scraping and clawing its way back into his core. “You saved me…” he said frankly. 

A ghost of a smile passed over Noctis’ sweaty face. “You would have survived. I just…” 

“You saved me,” Gladio repeated, firmly. “You didn’t have to do that. Thank you.” 

“I–” Noctis swallowed. “Y-you’re welcome. No more jumping out of windows. Okay?”

Gladio grinned. “You got it, princess.” 

Noctis’ brows drew together, offended, and Luna let out a quiet laugh. _“Princess?”_

Ignis moved to support Noctis, easing the burden from the much slighter Lunafreya. As soon as Noctis was stable, Luna kissed his cheek and moved swiftly to her fallen brother’s side. 

The three of them watched as she carefully brushed aside Ravus’ hair apart to inspect the blooming bruise on his forehead. She sighed, a golden light emanating from her hand as she pushed back the dark taint that clung to his pale skin. It did recede, but only so far as his flesh remained, the darkness still steeped around his amputated shoulder and false arm. It seemed there was little healing magic could do to spare his soul from the tainted artifact, and the reality of it seemed to weigh heavily on her slim shoulders. “Oh, Ravus. Why can’t you understand that I’m doing this so we can be _free?”_

The three turned away to give them both privacy. 

“Come, Let’s get you back to bed, highness. I’ll get someone to clean this up.”

“No,” Noctis denied Ignis’ order. “I have to do damage control before this blows up in our faces. Can you get in contact with Cor and the others? You don’t think...My dad...”

“Highly unlikely, if Ravus only had his Wraiths at his disposal,” Ignis answered his unfinished question. “It is more likely that Ravus was acting on his own. Our people can handle it.”

Gladio hoped that was the case. His magic twinged threateningly and he pushed it down with some effort. Astrals, he just wanted this nightmare to be _over._ He would give anything to be curled up in Prompto’s arms like he had a few days ago. Yet his skin was cold, the absence of his mate a greater strain on his body than he ever imagined it would be. But that too, he forced down. Prompto wasn’t here. He would have to deal on his own. 

Their ruckus had attracted attention, and Gladio narrowed his eyes at the denizens who drifted from the shadows, whispering amongst themselves. He flared his aura threateningly at the crowd, but if anything, they only whispered louder. “Let's get out of here before anything else,” Gladio said darkly, glaring at the prying eyes. “The rumours this is going to cause is already going to get us a lot of grief. We can figure out our next move when we’re somewhere safe–”

A scream tore through the night, and a flash of white was all Gladio saw before his world shattered right before his eyes.

Time slowed and Gladio could do nothing but watch numbly as Ravus’ gleaming blade swung straight for Noctis’ heart. Noctis’ eyes went wide and Ignis reacted, slamming his dagger into Ravus’ sword. But it was not enough. It sank into Ignis’ shoulder instead with a sick _squelch_ before tearing out and slashing across Noctis’ chest in a splatter of gore.

Both men held still for a suspended second, faces mirrored in horrified disbelief. Then Ignis and Noctis fell as one, their bodies slackening and hitting the pavement with dull thuds. 

Somewhere behind Gladio, Luna cried out. 

But Gladio couldn’t hear it. He gaped in horror at the blood pooling around Ravus’ feet–the life-blood of his _pack_ –as the tall man turned around, crimson stains in his snow white hair. A single bead of Ignis’ and Noctis’ mingling blood dripped from his sword, and Gladio heard it hit the ground like a peal of thunder. Slowly, he dragged his gaze back to Ravus’ triumphant grimace. 

Something in Gladio’s chest strained...and _shattered._ Wide eyed, lengthened fangs piercing his lower lip and filling his mouth with iron, Gladio’s face crumpled in unadulterated rage.

He had the sick satisfaction of watching Ravus’ face fall in the first hint of fear before Gladio blacked out.

* * *

Ignis gasped as he came abruptly awake. Agony tore through him, lighting his mind up with crimson bursts. He struggled to sit up, alarm overtaking him as he saw Noctis laying beside him. Pale. And still. 

He needed to get up, needed to fight…! But the prince was lying so still, so silent beside him that he could see nothing else, the man’s wan face lax with shock as his life seeped out of him and onto the uncaring pavement. Ignis was paralyzed with fear as he watched it pool around him to mingle with Ignis’ own. He could only feel with numbing certainty that he should have been able to stop this. 

But Ignis had no time to wallow in his failure. They were all still in grave danger. “Gladio,” he gasped, tearing his eyes from this dying friend. No. No, Ignis could not be injured, not now.

But it was too late. Ignis’ breath was torn from him as a swell of chaotic magic darkened the street, hitting him like a tidal wave. Noctis gurgled as the both of them were forced down the street. Ignis only had a split second to cradle the slighter man in his own body before they slammed into a wall, knocking from Ignis what little breath remained in his bruised lungs and sending arcs of agony through his arm and side. When he was finally able to wrest his eyes open, he nearly wished he never had.

Gladio–Ignis’ best friend, his _partner_ – stood in the middle of the rubble-filled street, mouth hanging open in a vicious snarl and crimson magic sizzling dangerously. It stirred the air like an ill omen, Gladio standing in the eye of the budding storm. 

“What the fuck!” Ravus exclaimed as he too was thrown backward, feet sliding along the street greased by their blood. Like the animal he resembled, Gladio threw his head back and _howled_ , the sound so full of grief and fury that it set Ignis’ scales rippling, a meagre protection against the magic backlash, but all he had. 

“No,” Ignis said brokenly as his worst nightmare came to life. Gladio had gone into blood fever. “No! Gladio, don’t do it!” But his partner couldn’t hear him, the whites of his eyes consumed by darkness, his hair whipping about him with the force of his magic. His muscles bulged, his magic augmenting his strength, and Ignis knew that if he kept expending his energy like this, it would soon kill him. 

Ignis had been there when Gladio’s father, Clarus, went into the fever. He watched the man lose his senses and give into the chaos that defined the Reavers, watched him tear his own partner, Drautos, apart when the Serpent hadn’t been able to fulfill his duty and subdue him. Then Ignis was forced to hide and watch as the older Reaver’s magic turned on him...and consumed him. There was nothing any of them could have done but wait out the storm and try to save as many lives as possible. 

And just as he had been helpless back then, there was precious little Ignis could do now. The only way to subdue Gladio before he killed them all was to _poison_ his partner and hope that it was enough to subdue him and not kill him in the process, for there was no more potent paralytic than a Serpent’s venom. And nothing more deadly. 

How many nights had they spoken of just this moment over drinks? How many times had Gladio looked at Ignis with trust in his eyes and said, ‘You got my back, Iggy’, because he believed with all his heart that Ignis would never let him succumb to the fever? That he would stop him if he ever did?

But now that it came down to it, Ignis didn’t know if he had the strength. Because just as Gladio felt that Ignis was more than just his partner–just a Serpent pair to a Reaver, assigned to keep him in check–so too did Ignis care for Gladio more than words could describe. Now, in hindsight, Ignis realized his mistake. If he’d truly wanted to protect Gladio, he should never have gotten this close to him in the first place. He groaned as another shockwave sent agony through his wounded shoulder, curling into the pavement in grief and pain and fear. Beside him, Noctis coughed weakly and Ignis’ eyes filled with frustrated tears. He couldn’t save him either. He failed them both. 

Gladio stalked forward as if he’d completely forgotten that they were there. There was only one thing that he wanted to do now; destroy everything in his path. 

Suddenly, like a spell lifted, the people that had gathered around the spectacle began to panic and disperse into the roiling night. All in the undercity knew exactly how powerful an out of control Reaver could be, and the only thing that they could do was flee for their lives. But not all were quick enough. Ignis watched numbly as a Minx daemon fell beneath Gladio’s undiscriminating teeth with a piercing cry, dead before he hit the ground in a tuft of crumpled fur. Then another fell at Gladio’s hands. And another. It was only a matter of time before Gladio turned his burning eyes on his friends. 

Ignis was living his worst nightmare, pain pulsing hotly at the corners of his eyes. Their charge and friend bled out beside him and his partner was stalking them like he would love nothing more than to tear Ignis limb from limb. Ignis’ vision spotted as he struggled to sit upright, but it was little use. His body was broken. He could only watch as his partner’s dead eyes passed over him without recognition, blood dripping from his snarling lips and promising death with every step he took.

Well. At least they would die together.

Ignis flinched badly as white blocked his vision–not magic this time, but Lunafreya’s white dress as she rushed to his side, foolishly getting between Gladio and his prey. Ignis felt a new surge of adrenaline and nearly screamed at her to _get away, what was she thinking?_ But though Gladio roared with rage and charged, he was cut off by Ravus, who stepped in front of his sister with a wild look in his eyes and a challenging growl. “No you don’t, monster. Not my sister!” 

“Ravus,” Lunafreya breathed, but she did not spare her brother another glance as she crouched before Noctis and Ignis despite the raging battle clashing behind her. With tears in her eyes and a desperation that marred her beautiful face, she placed her hands over Noctis’ freely bleeding chest and let the crimson soak her pale fingers without hesitation. Ignis blinked rapidly, suddenly blinded by sunlight as a new, gentle magic washed over them both. 

Noctis wheezed weakly as his chest began to glow beneath her fingers. Tears slipped down Lunafreya’s dirty cheeks as she began to cry. “Noctis, Noctis, I’m so sorry, I–”

“It’s a-alright,” Noctis muttered automatically, though his words couldn’t be further from the truth. He placed a trembling hand over hers and she sobbed, pressing her forehead into their entwined fingers. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing her magic warmer, brighter, and Ignis felt a soft trickle of hope that Noctis may survive. 

But no amount of healing magic would save them if Gladio was not stopped. Ignis could not afford to watch them when he still had a duty to perform. With a determination born of renewed hope that at least Noctis may survive, Ignis pushed himself to his knees with a silent scream. He grimaced and forced his eyes open, pressing unconsciousness away so he could examine the battle going on in the street.

Ravus was holding his own, somehow, his tainted magic crackling in defense and clashing with Gladio’s violently. It seemed that the rumours about Ravus’ prowess were not exaggerated. But it was only a matter of time before he was overcome, for nothing beneath the fickle sun could stop a Reaver who has lost control. No thing but one.

Ignis finally climbed to his feet, his arm hanging uselessly at his side. He panted, struggling to regain his balance and see through the explosions going off behind his clenched lids. With his good hand, he pulled out his poisoned darts, fingers trembling in more than just physical pain. They felt familiar in his fingers, a small comfort in the final throes of death. “Ravus, you cannot fight him! Move aside!” 

Ravus did not appear to hear him, or perhaps did not care, too enthralled by his own rage and his consuming desire to protect his sister that he would not retreat. Gladio’s blade came crashing down and it was only Ravus’ own potent magic that kept him from being crushed. Their swords clashed in a blinding array, neither denizen willing to give a single inch. But Gladio was stronger, and Ravus realized his mistake as he was thrown abruptly from the fight. He slammed into the building across the intersection in a rain of rubble and slid to the ground, unmoving. 

Tears spilled down Lunafrya’s face, but she did not stop her concentration on Noctis’ fading light. 

Gladio straightened with shoulders straining, blood and spit slipping from his parted lips to drip sluggishly from his chin. He was more animal than Ignis had ever seen him as the Reaver turned his gaze onto him. Ignis began to wonder in despair that even if Gladio managed to survive his poison, he might already be gone.

Gladio stepped forward menacingly, rippling growl shattering through the alleyways like a portent of death. 

Ignis’ pulse fluttered in his neck. He forced his sluggish limbs to move in front of Noctis and Lunafreya and held his needles up higher, a clear threat even as his heart shattered in his chest. “Don’t make me do this, Gladio! Stand down!” Please. Please hear him. Why couldn’t he _hear_ him?

When Gladio did not answer, Ignis’ vision blurred with tears, needles shaking in numb fingers. 

Gladio’s pace sped up. He broke into a run, no recognition in his eyes. No light, no laughter, not even the exhaustion of a night gone on too long, as had been all too common of late. Only rage. Ignis lifted his trembling hand, fingers sliding to throwing position, and just as Gladio lifted his sword to strike, he whispered, “I’m sorry,”...and let them fly. 

Ignis closed his eyes, unwilling to watch his friend die by his own hand and having not the strength to move out of the way of the oncoming blow. 

At least they would die together. As it should be.

But instead of the bite of Gladio’s famed blade in his neck, Ignis heard a sharp clang and an earth shattering _bang_ , and felt the rushing wind of a passing blow. Ignis blinked in utter shock as a slim man appeared between himself and Gladio and he took in a startled breath, one he thought he’d never take in again.

Prompto Argentum grunted beneath the weight of Gladio’s sword, his legs shaking and a handgun smoking where he’d deflected Ignis’ needles. 

Gladio stood frozen, stopped in his tracks. He seemed...stunned, the first glimmer of emotion Ignis had seen in him since he’d fallen to his darker instincts.

“Whoa, there!” Prompto called, his arms shaking beneath the weight of Dawnbreaker. But a smile was plastered on his face, barely more than a grimace. “I’m not fond of Ravus either, but don’t you think this is a little much?”

Ignis could not believe what he was seeing. Prompto Argentum? What was he _doing_ here? It seemed that he had not given up on stalking Gladio. Yet even more unbelievable than that–Gladio...stopped. The Reaver stood frozen, breaths heaving in his large chest and eyes wide as if struggling to wake from a dream. But he wasn’t moving to destroy Prompto. It was _impossible._

Perhaps Ignis had underestimated the strength of their bond. A new hope bloomed in Ignis’ chest to temper the pain. Perhaps he didn’t have to kill Gladio after all. 

Ignis didn't trust that this brief reprieve would last for long. He coughed through his shock, forcing his voice to work. “Prompto, be careful! Gladio is not himself! He will not hesitate to kill you!” 

“Yeah, I can _see_ that,” Prompto stuttered over his shoulder with a mirthless laugh. He skidded back several more feet as Gladio came out of his daze and renewed his assault. 

Prompto yelped as the sword he’d snatched from Ravus was thrown aside, but he was quick enough to swing the butt of his gatling into Gladio’s jaw, sending the Reaver reeling more in surprise than actual pain.

In a stunning display of dexterity, Prompto took advantage of Gladio’s shock and snatched his flailing arm from the air, wrenching them behind the much larger man’s back and forcing Gladio to the ground in a cloud of dust. Gladio yelled with frustration as his flickering shields crackled and rippled beneath Prompto’s booted heels, arm threatening to pop right out of its socket. “Not so fast, big guy! I’m not letting you go any further!” He placed the barrel of his gun against the back of Gladio’s neck threateningly. “Calm down!” 

Knowing that Prompto would not be able to hold Gladio for long, Ignis spoke as quickly as he was able. “Prompto, listen carefully, or we will all die! You need to let him bite you!” 

Prompto didn’t take his eyes off Gladio’s struggling form, but his eyebrows rose up his forehead. _“What?_ He’ll tear my throat out!” 

Ignis got the feeling he wouldn’t. In fact, he was certain. “No, he will not! You’re his mate!” But rather than being reassured, Prompto looked like he would rather throw himself off a balcony.

“Are you insane? I’m not going to let him bond himself to me forever when he’s like _this!”_ Prompto shouted, a trickle of desperation cracking his voice. “Not to someone like me, _not like this!”_

Ignis choked down his frustration. “He’s gone into blood fever and his magic is tearing him apart! Now is _not_ the time to have second thoughts!” he screamed. “You are the only one who can stop him! Stand by your words and _save him.”_

Prompto shouted to the sky, strain clear in his voice as he struggled to hold the raging Reaver still. “I meant what I said! But I _refuse_ to force him into a bond with _–gah!”_

With an explosion of strength, Gladio threw Prompto from him, his shoulder dislocating with an audible _snap_. Ignis’ stomach roiled in sympathy, but it didn’t even appear that Gladio felt it, lurching to his feet in an angry crackle of magic.

“There has to be something else I can do!” Prompto despaired, backpedaling to keep clear of Gladio’s wild swings. The Reaver was weakening now, clearly spent, a stream of blood staining his lips. “Come on, Gladio! I’m your mate! Right? Listen to me!” 

But Gladio couldn’t hear him, already lowering himself for a charge, arm hanging useless at his side. 

Suddenly the Reaver flinched back, coughing as black mist engulfed his face. Ravus, miraculously conscious for all he should have been dead, held an upraised hand, magic flickering sluggishly. 

“Control your mutt, Argentum!” Ravus called through bloodied teeth and Prompto paled, looking to the fallen Fox with something like fear. 

_“Save him!”_ Ignis shouted. He didn’t give a _damn_ what was going on, didn’t give a damn who Prompto really was or whatever the fuck was holding him back. All he knew was that _Gladio was in danger_ and Prompto could save him. Gladio didn’t have much time left, his entire body shaking with exertion and Ignis feared the worst. “NOW!” 

He’d done what he could. Now he could only hope that whatever Prompto’s true intentions in all of this, he would not let Gladio die.

Loathe as Ignis was to entrust the safety of his best friend and brother to this dangerous stranger, he realized deep in his bones that only Gladio’s chosen mate could save him now.

* * *

Gladio’s awareness came in waves. With each pulse of his heart, red light filled his eyes and the blurred crimson shapes of the streets around him were cast in macabre light. All he could see was his prey. All he could feel was fury. His stomach churned sickly as hot blood filled his mouth and slid down his throat. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware of the screaming that splintered his ears, the taste of death on his tongue, and the understanding that he no longer held the mastery over himself that he’d been clinging to with a desperation for the better part of his life. The pressure he’d been fighting for years and years had erupted and there was nothing he could do now but _burn,_ two of the fragile bonds that had a hand in keeping him balanced torn away from him abruptly.

Some part of Gladio–a small, horrified part of his psyche that was hanging on by barely a thread–cried out in the recesses of his mind, begging him to stop. This wasn’t him! He was not the animal they always said he was. He wasn’t going down like this. Ignis promised. Prompto–

But his magic screamed through his boiling blood. It hurt. Oh, it hurt, more than even his grief. He just wanted it to _end._ But only anger seemed to survive the bone shattering agony; only anger could keep him going. So he poured what little of himself he had left into his fury, because without it he was nothing but a raw nerve over an open flame. His eyes felt that they would burst from his skull with the pressure of his own magic. His joints felt like they would melt between his bones. It was the only thing he knew, and there was no reprieve nor safety from the curse of his nature finally coming back to bite him.

Distantly he could hear voices beyond the screams and the iron in his mouth. Familiar voices. But that couldn’t be right. His friends were dead. His friends were dead and he needed to kill the monsters that took them from him. Enemy after enemy fell beneath his blade and his teeth. He didn’t know who they were. It didn’t matter. Their blood burned against his skin, and he wanted _more._

The moment Ignis and Noctis fell flashed behind his eyes over and over, fueling his fury and blinding him to all else.

_Glad–n’t make me–please!_

There was another threat in front of him, glinting in the dim and blood, blood everywhere. It consumed his senses totally. Gladio growled, the sound tearing from his throat and ripping through the air. This creature killed his friends. Killed his friends. Gladio lifted his blade and prepared to destroy another foe, watched with cruel satisfaction as it closed its eyes in defeat. Yes. It would fall before his blade and _pay for what it did._

Gladio’s senses were suffused with sunshine and gunpowder. 

The world jerked to a halt, held in place by his own shock as gold and pure, pure blue filled his vision. A voice–as familiar to him as his own and yet so new, beautiful, _safe_ –rushed into his ears like the incoming tide, cool and soothing. 

_Mate,_ his instincts whispered beneath the maelstrom, and Gladio couldn’t move. His mate’s sounds and scents washed over him, calming the storm for a few precious seconds. 

But it was too late and Gladio’s magic would not be denied. It overflowed and choked him, setting his every nerve aflame. He roared, tears slipping down his face as red took him once again, and lashed out against the pain. There were more voices that he recognized but they could not reach him, and suddenly he was on the ground, straining, struggling, howling. It hurt, it hurt, he was under attack, _it hurt._

 _Mate!,_ his mind screamed even as his magic tore him apart, and more tears slipped down his face because it was Prompto, _Prompto_ was holding him down and _hurting him_.

Muffled words could not reach him past the fear and anger. Gladio screamed through a particularly powerful spasm and barely felt it as his arm was wrenched from his shoulder. He got to his feet, free, and didn’t even notice as his limb hung uselessly at his side. Like an animal cornered, he looked desperately for an escape, but only saw more bodies to carve through. He would tear them apart!

He didn’t make it one more step before he was slammed back onto the ground, and this time his spine cracked against the pavement hard enough to stun him.

A hand closed around Gladio’s neck and held him tight, cutting off his airways. “Gladio,” a voice said quietly, but with a note of command that tingled through Gladio’s limbs. 

Gladio froze from the sound of the man’s familiar, stern voice. “Enough. You _will_ calm down. Now.”

_Prompto?_

Gladio stared up at him, breathing raggedly through his restricted airways. His eyes flickered back in forth, black with confusion and errant magic, his rage receding along with the fear. His body shook between Prompto’s thighs as the slight blond held on tightly, firmly. 

_Safe,_ his mind supplied with his and Prompto’s every shared breath. _Safe._ His magic bristled and he whimpered, but a smothering blanket was drifting over him, pushing it down, down, down.

“That’s it, big guy. You’re mine.” Gladio felt his torn throat vibrate in an almost inaudible growl, and relaxed just a little more beneath Prompto. “You’re _mine._ You’re arms, your legs, your body, your mind. You’ve given them to me, and only I can command them.” He leaned down into Gladio’s ear, his body lifting up and down with the force of Gladio’s frantic breaths. “I’m in control,” he whispered, and a blanket of safety smothered Gladio with heat, warming his freezing limbs and easing the sharp restriction around his lungs. 

Gladio whimpered again, his vision clearing. He could see Prompto’s face now. He knew exactly who he was. “P-Prompto…?” Gladio choked, then convulsed as his magic sparked painfully over his skin. “Hurts,” he grunted, the muscle in his jaw clenching spasmodically.

“I know,” Prompto said softly, and Gladio’s brows lowered even as he struggled to see through the tears. Why was Prompto sad? “I know it hurts, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I never wanted things to turn out this way.” 

“Turn out...I–” Suddenly cold fear gripped Gladio. The fever. He was in blood fever. He was–who had he _hurt_ – 

“No, no, no, none of this is your fault,” Prompto soothed, his hands never faltering as Gladio, even now, tried to escape him. “It’s mine. I never should have allowed things to come to this.”

“What?” Gladio gasped, but he couldn’t focus, feeling weaker by the second.

Prompto smiled grimly. “But it’s too late, isn’t it. I did this to you, and now you have to pay the price. I’m so sorry.” He leaned down and placed a fluttering, tender kiss against the corner of Gladio’s mouth...then, with a twist of his hips, he flipped them over. 

Gladio blinked, stunned, as he found himself abruptly on top of his lover, a firm hand on the back of his neck pressing his face down into Prompto’s shoulder. Gladio only had a split second of bewildered confusion before his instincts swelled more strongly than he’d ever felt in his _life_. His chaotic magic drew in abruptly into a single, refined point, nearly blinding him with its intensity. Still, he held back by the barest breadth. “Prom–? What–?” Was he understanding this correctly? But Prompto said–

“Bite me Gladio,” Prompto whispered, “Take what you want and _live.”_

There was nothing Gladio could do but comply. Magic brimmed from his battered and bruised core, but this time it was controlled, soothing, natural. Gladio, contrary to the violence that had ruled him, gently, _achingly_ gently, pressed his teeth against the apex of his beloved mate’s throat...and let go. His fangs tingled and his entire being flushed with spring’s warm breath. He couldn’t see it, but the skin beneath his touch swirled and darkened with lines of brilliant red, the mark that had branded his soul from birth taking form against Prompto’s skin. The man gasped beneath him, arching up into Gladio’s body, his face morphing with shock and bliss. 

_“Oh!”_

Gladio’s shaking began to slow and magic began to recede, flowing out from his tortured core and into Prompto, binding their souls together with a gentle pluck of a harp string. He relaxed utterly in Prompto’s arms as some long-sleeping part of himself tied itself snugly into place, his shattered pieces sliding back into the correct order. His thoughts quieted. His instincts subsided. He felt whole. Beneath him Prompto gasped and curled into him, feeling every gentle tug of Gladio’s magic just as potently as Gladio did.

“Gladio?” Prompto called when it was finally over, voice laced with emotion.

“Prompto…” Gladio answered, opening his eyes slowly and pulling back. He stared down at the crimson lines just visible above Prompto’s collar in reverence and disbelief, the feathers of a crimson eagle, a more delicate mirror of Gladio’s own that Gladio knew wrapped around his new mate like a loving embrace. Yet it was Gladio who felt held by it. When he was finally able to lift his gaze away, he looked into Prompto’s eyes. 

“You with me, big guy?” Prompto said just as softly, scanning Gladio carefully. Gladio’s face was lax with awe, red with exertion and a bewildered flush. 

“Prompto...you–” Gladio swallowed and tried again. “You let me–but I thought you said–”

“Yeah, well,” Prompto shrugged with a wavering smile. “I know we said we’d take it slow, but you kind of. Um.”

All of Gladio’s elation retreated swiftly as, with dawning horror, he realized what happened. He sat up abruptly and looked down at his shaking hands. They were covered in blood. 

“Oh Gods,” he said, strangled. “I–I–” His bloodstained fingers sank into his wild hair as the visions of violence consumed him. “What have I done…!” 

Noctis. Ignis. They were dead. And Gladio had gone into blood fever. How many people did he kill? How was he still alive? _Why was he still alive?_

“Hey–”

“You stopped me,” Gladio realized abruptly, looking up at Prompto. “You stopped me by binding yourself to me forever. Even though you didn’t want to.” He didn’t know what to feel about that. Disgusted with himself. Definitely disgusted. And terrified. 

“No,” Prompto said firmly, taking his jaw gently between calloused palms. “Gladio, no matter what, I do not regret saving you. I regret that it happened like this, but...it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

“Gladio!” 

Gladio and Prompto did not look away from each other. Prompto’s fingers curled gently around his jaw, eyes imploring–to do what, Gladio wasn’t certain. But there was fear. And sadness. And a longing that hit Gladio hard in a way that only heightened his trepidations. Yet his gentleness managed to ease him in a way no one else ever had save for the hazy memories of his mother and father before they left him behind for good. 

“Gladio!” Ignis called again, and this time Gladio heeded his voice, tearing his eyes away from his new bonded with some effort. Prompto moved off of him, though Gladio found himself reluctant to let him go. 

“Ignis,” Gladio gasped, tears welling and slipping down his face in utter relief. “You’re alive…” 

“Yes,” Ignis coughed as he staggered over to them and collapsed beside the two reclined men. “Though barely.” Ignis gave Prompto an assessing look that Gladio couldn’t read before turning to his partner. It was when Gladio saw the damage done to his best friend–the deep wound across his chest that still bled sluggishly, the bruises maring his fastidiously perfect skin, and the dust in his disheveled hair–that his guilt nearly consumed his joy to see him alive. 

“Ignis, I’m so–” 

“Don’t,” Ignis snapped, voice trembling. “Don’t...you’re safe now. That’s all that matters.” 

Gladio nodded slowly, the two of them communicating like no one else could, before another alarming thought occurred to him. “Noct?” 

“He’s fine. Lunafreya has healed him.” 

“And what about you?” Prompto said, eyeing Ignis’ still weeping injury with concern. When Ignis looked at him, it was with a hint of surprise, as if he did not expect Prompto to care. But of course Prompto cared. Hadn’t he proved that by now? He was here, and Gladio couldn’t be more grateful, relieved, in love. Not only had he protected Gladio’s pack, but he’d protected them from _him._ It was more than Gladio could ever have expected.

“I’m alright,” Ignis said eventually. “It is not deep.” 

“Iggy…” 

“Hush, Gladio, it’s not your fault. No one saw Ravus coming.” 

“Ravus,” Gladio growled, sitting upright. 

“Whoa there, buddy, you need to take it easy!” Prompto fretted, pushing ineffectually at Gladio’s damp chest. 

Gladio’s expression softened immediately and Prompto meeped as he wrapped his arms loosely around Prompto’s hips, dragging him close. “I’m alright, thanks to you.” The older man blushed, cursing under his breath and Gladio quirked a smile. Prompto was not allowed to be that cute. It was criminal. And Gladio’s heart did not need the acrobatics after everything he’d just been through. 

Ignis cleared his throat pointedly, and the two of them jerked apart. “While I’m sure you’d both benefit from some alone time, we still need to take care of Ravus.”

“As if any of you could ‘take care’ of me,” a voice startled them all, and Ravus walked up to them looking no worse for wear but for a thin layer of dust and the painting of their blood on his white garb. Ignis and Gladio tensed, the latter cursing explosively in his mind for his current weakness. There was no way he could defend them if Ravus decided to attack again. They were all exhausted. 

But he did not have to. For the third time in their acquaintance, Prompto stood strong where Gladio could not, standing firmly between Ravus and his friends. “Ravus,” Prompto said darkly, and with a familiarity that gave Gladio pause. Did they know each other? 

Ravus examined Prompto for several seconds before he finally said, “Step aside. I have business with these thugs.” 

“No,” Prompto said, deadly quiet, and pulled his handgun from its holster. “You don’t.” 

They glared at each other, but Lunafreya’s voice pierced through the air. It was tired but strong, commanding their attention. “Ravus! Enough of this. If you wish to harm these people, you may as well kill me too, for I will not return with you no matter what you do.” A weakened but whole Noctis stood at her side, leaning heavily against her unwavering support, much to Gladio’s profound relief. 

Ravus glared at them both, but the darkness had receded, leaving him pale and wan in the flickering street lights. “You would really sacrifice everything for these _mongrels?”_

Lunafreya straightened, steel in her spine and in her gaze. “Sacrifice? No...You and I, we lost everything dear to us a long time ago.” Beseechingly, “Come with me, brother. We can rebuild our family!” 

Ravus remained unmoved, bitter. “Rebuild our family? How can you stand there and preach to me when it is clear that you’ve thrown your lot in with _him.”_ He jabbed his finger accusingly at Noctis, who did not waver, his arm tightening around his lover’s shoulders. 

Luna shook her head sadly. “Noctis is not our enemy. What will it take for you to see that the Caelums just want peace?”

“I will never accept that, not when Regis abandoned us as our mother was _murdered.”_ His anger diminished, expression becoming unreadable. “But I will not kill you. Fine. I will retreat for now. Just remember that when he inevitably betrays you, that you turned your back on _me.”_

He closed his eyes, then pinned Prompto with his gaze for several more seconds. A bead of sweat trickled down Prompto’s brow, his scent spiking with the sharp edge of fear. Gladio was on his feet in an instant, alarmed by the look passing between them, but by the time he’d staggered forward to intervene in their stalemate, Ravus was already turning away. “My men have retreated. For now. Do not expect me to be so lenient next time, dear sister.” With a final disdainful sniff, Ravus retreated in an acrid cloud of black magic, whisking his unsettling presence away in a flicker of ink.

Prompto let out a subtle breath of relief.

The five of them relaxed, the ordeal finally over, and Lunafreya rushed to Ignis’ side as the man nearly keeled over. “Hold steady, friend. I shall heal you now.” 

“Thank you, Lady Lunafreya,” Ignis said faintly, and allowed himself to rest against her shoulder as her soothing magic washed over him, knitting together his wounds. Gladio watched them carefully, every breath easier as the grievous wounds on his brother’s skin faded away, leaving only the ruins of his once pristine clothing behind. With every heartbeat, Ignis’ skin became more flushed and his tremors ceased, and Gladio could finally, _finally_ draw a full breath. His eyes stung. He’d almost...he’d almost...if it hadn’t been for Prompto…!

“So what now? Oomph!” Prompto huffed as Gladio pulled him against his chest, every heated inch of him itching for contact. The larger man nestled into the crook of Prompto’s neck, inhaling the whole of him and exhaling in a content rumble, almost too tired to care about the sight they must make. If Prompto minded he did not say, obligingly carding his gloved fingers through Gladio’s sweat slicked hair. 

“Now, I speak with my father,” Noctis answered Prompto’s question, sounding as if he carried the weight of the world on his bowed shoulders. “I will make sure that Ravus’ crusade will not resume hostilities with Niflheim.” 

Gladio felt Prompto relax against him and sighed internally, hoping that Noctis would be able to do just that. But he had a distinct feeling that things wouldn’t be that easy…

Still. Gladio had gotten his happy ending, and that was all he could focus on. Now that Ravus was no longer on the warpath, it meant that he could finally take his time and get to know his new mate properly. And he would know all of him, he thought as he held onto the slighter man tighter; every freckle and wrinkled nose when he laughed, every nervous stutter and commanding tone. He would dedicate the rest of his existence to knowing every part of him. 

And maybe someday, Prompto would trust him enough to tell him what he was hiding.

“So, you’re the one Gladio’s been moaning about for weeks.” Noctis interrupted after a moment, eyeing Prompto with a raised brow. Luna was watching them as well, a note of surprise and a faint smile on her fine features. Prompto met Luna’s eyes with an awkward smile, a light flush dusting his sharp cheekbones, the two blondes seeming to share a moment between them in the embrace of the love they’d found. 

Gladio grunted good naturedly. “Shut up, Noct. You were so drunk I’m surprised you even noticed.” 

Noctis’ brows lowered, pain flashing across his face. “There’s a lot I didn’t notice. But I’m here now, and I cannot thank the four of you enough for saving my life. I would be your friend...if you would allow it.” 

Gladio softened, a small, warm light shivering in his chest. He would never tell Noctis this, but he already was. He had been a part of Gladio’s small, fragile family for a while now; a family that seemed to grow larger by the day. “Yeah...yeah, I think I’d like that. Noct.” 

Noctis’ thin lips pulled up into a genuine smile before he turned to Prompto. “You as well...erm.” 

“Prompto Argentum, your highness.” 

Noctis nodded. “Prompto. You’ve not only saved Gladio’s life, but ours as well. How can I repay you?” 

Prompto actually laughed at that. “Thanks a lot, but I already have everything I want right here.” He leaned fully against Gladio’s chest and Gladio rumbled pleasantly, pulling him closer. Noctis chuckled, conceding. 

“Alright. For now, you guys should get some rest. I’ll contact you when I need you again…?” he trailed off, looking at Gladio and Ignis questioningly. Gladio hummed, the two of them exchanging a long look. Did they continue to defend Noctis? War was coming, despite Noctis’ hopes, and the Glaives had ever been a neutral party in such conflicts. But it seemed like that time was coming to an end, and Gladio already knew where his heart lied.

It seemed Ignis did as well, if the determined light in his eye was anything to go by. 

Gladio grinned and Ignis pushed up his glasses. “You know where to find us.” 

Noctis looked like he could collapse with relief. “Glad to hear it.” He closed his eyes briefly before looking to Luna. “Luna…?” 

“I will be by your side, Noctis,” she said, taking his hand gently between hers. Noctis’ eyes watered, but he didn’t let the tears fall. Instead he leaned down and brushed his chapped lips over her pale cheek, rising a delicate blush on her skin. He stood straight and tall with a smile, his wings rising to their natural position as if they’d been burdened all this time and had finally found relief. He looked to them all, clear, crystal blues brimming with gratitude and taking in each of them as if they were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

“You guys...are the best,” he said, soft voice cracking slightly. With a final smile, he bowed his head and turned away. “Right. I will contact you all soon.” 

Prompto, Ignis and Gladio watched as the slim man walked away, hand in hand with Luna. 

* * *

Ignis parted with a last lingering hand upon Gladio’s shoulder. Gladio was so tired he nearly stumbled beneath its weight, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He was so relieved that Ignis was alive that the man could have kicked him in the shins and he would thank him for the pleasure. 

But then, finally, he was alone with Prompto, the door of Gladio’s apartment closing softly behind them. 

Gladio sighed and gazed at his extraordinary new mate, astounded at what he was able to do for him today. Gladio had to be the first Reaver to ever come out of a blood fever. It was incredible. 

But Prompto did not indulge Gladio in the touch he so clearly desired, walking slowly to the window to gaze out into the darkness of the night. Gladio frowned, but did not let Prompto’s distance perturb him. Instead, he came up behind the slighter man–one who held such strength in his deceptively slim frame–and wrapped his arms around him.

“Thank you,” Gladio whispered reverently into his skin, tucking his face in close. Prompto inhaled deeply and tilted his head, allowing Gladio to explore as he pleased. Gladio did so with pleasure, brushing his lips over the ridgeless crimson lines that bespoke his love, ones that he wished early to see in their entirety. “If you hadn’t stopped me…” 

Prompto turned around around in his arms, staring at him sternly. “Don’t. None of that was your fault. I’m just…” He trailed off, looking aside before his gaze flicked back beneath wheat lashes. “I’m just glad I was able to help you.” 

Gladio’s chest swelled, and he had to swallow back a million things he wanted to say. He finally settled on, “You have done so much more than that.” Prompto had known Gladio in ways no others had ever cared to do. He’d been there for him even if Gladio couldn't always see him. He’d quieted his instincts, he’d risked his own life for Gladio’s sake, filled a part of him that he’d thought could never be reached. He’d done more than just ‘help’. He’d become Gladio’s _everything_. 

But Prompto only gazed up at him a little sadly. He looked like he wanted to say something, but he closed his mouth before slowly shaking his head. Instead, he swiped a gentle calloused hand over Gladio’s forehead. “You’re amazing, you know that? I couldn’t have asked for...a better mate.” 

_Mate._ The word whispered in Gladio’s heart like the peal of a bell and he inhaled slowly, let it roll languidly through him. He placed his hand over Prompto’s, staring carefully into his eyes. He still looked sad, and it made Gladio’s smile dim. “You wish it hadn’t happened that way.” 

Prompto looked pained. “Yes. But I...I don’t regret saving you.” 

Gladio’s hand tightened around Prompto’s and he pulled away. “But you regret allowing me to bond to you.” 

“No!” Prompto denied immediately, not allowing Gladio to move. Prompto glared, gripping Gladio’s jaw so he would look him in the eye. “Gladio Amicitia. You are the most amazing, sweet, generous, _beautiful_ man I have ever met. There’s nothing else I’ve ever wanted more. I just don’t want you to regret _me.”_

Gladio’s grip on Prompto became fierce, surprising him into silence. In a growling voice, Gladio said, “Prompto, I will _never_ regret you,” he whispered. “Whatever it is that you’re so afraid of, I won’t allow it to touch you. You don’t have to be alone anymore.” 

And before Prompto could retreat into his ever ready denials and fears, Gladio pulled him into an insistent, blistering, _needy_ kiss that had Prompto keening into his mouth instead. 

All the adrenaline, anger, fear and doubt faded away as they lost themselves in each other, in the press and pull of their lips and the exchange of air between them. And then Gladio could stand it no longer, pulling insistently at Prompto’s shirt. He had to see it. 

Prompto gasped as his shirt was ripped apart, buttons flying unheeded to all corners of the room. Finally, Prompto’s chest, Gladio’s _mark,_ was revealed. 

“I have to admit, I was expecting something a little more...gory,” Prompto whispered between them, as if the moment would be broken by too alarming a tone. 

Gladio barely heard him as he brushed reverent fingers over the mark he’d been seeing in his dreams since he was old enough to remember. An eagle, but not quite like the one etched into his own skin; the mark of his father. No, this one was delicate, intricately patterned in an infinite dance across Prompto’s beautifully freckled skin. “This mark…” he said slowly, leaning closer to place a reverent kiss against Prompto’s chest, “means that I am yours.” He placed another kiss against Prompto’s collarbone, feeling the racing heart beneath his skin. “Forever,” he breathed against the spot where the mark originated and felt how his magic brushed against it like a butterfly’s kiss. “I love you,” he said, finally placing his lips against Prompto’s. Prompto’s breath hitched, and though Gladio’s eyes were closed, he could almost see the tears glimmering against his cheeks. 

And for that one blissful, perfect moment, Prompto believed him. 

* * *

Prompto exhaled a pale puff of smoke, indulging one of Gladio’s secret stash of cigarettes. He’d never particularly liked smoking himself, but right now it was the perfect thing to take the edge off and occupy his idle hands.

He was relaxing out on the balcony of Gladio’s apartment, body aching pleasantly as he stood bare to the night air in nothing but his boxers, reveling in the sharp bite of cold wind. His marked shoulder tingled with his every heartbeat, and he couldn’t tell if it was because he was overly aware of it or because of Gladio’s peculiar brand of magic. Either way, he couldn’t bring himself to regret it anymore, too content, too gratified to even feel its sting. He felt serene, more-so than he had in many long years. 

He let himself enjoy it, because in this world where nothing was certain or sacred or permanent, there was no telling when this momentary– _undeserved_ – bliss would end. He did not look for all the reasons why this could never work, not while his extraordinary lover’s resolve was painted across his skin in a beautiful diagram. Hm. He’d always wanted a tattoo…

He’d almost been too late. The night he left, he’d searched and searched, exhausting every avenue he knew to find the wayward Fleuret. He’d set out in the beginning of all of this to run interference and misdirect Ravus’ men, but after learning Luna’s whereabouts after all this time, he had to switch tactics to finding Ravus and stopping him cold; something he would have never dared do before he’d found something–some _one_ –truly dear to him. 

But even Prompto’s considerable network couldn't make it past the web of distraction that Ravus had set up for his final assault. The distraction hadn’t been for Prompto specifically–it had done its job distracting Cor the Immortal and his Glaives from finding out Ravus’ true aims–but it had been enough to nearly prevent Prompto from being where he was needed most.

Almost too late. But he wasn’t. Not this time. 

This was never supposed to happen. Gladiolus Amicitia was never meant to be _his._ But...he was. By some happenstance, by some _miracle,_ he...was. His. Prompto’s. 

Gladio was bonded to him now, under duress no less. Even as shaky as Prompto was in understanding exactly how a bond even worked– _magic,_ he still couldn’t quite grasp it even after being in the undercity for a few months now–he understood that it should never have happened that way. And never with Prompto, of all creatures.

This was...permanent, something Gladio no longer had a choice in. It was _permanent._ And that terrified Prompto more than anything else ever had in his short, violent life. Yet there was a deep, selfish part of Prompto that was glad for it, for he had never met someone who better matched his soul, even after only knowing him for a short time. He couldn't bring himself to regret the circumstances that lead to him saving Gladio, even if he’d been there for entirely different reasons. No matter how bent and backwards the events of the past weeks had become–Prompto’s unexpected obsession, Gladio’s unexpected _wonderfulness,_ their unprecedented bond that should never have been–some primal part of Prompto crowed, a deep seated contentment he’d never known warming his bones even against the chill bite of winter. 

So he indulged in this rare moment of happiness, and revelled in the peace...

That is, until a soft thump announced he was not alone. Prompto’s eyes snapped open, his cigarette snapping in his grip.

“So, going to enlighten me why Versteal’s puppet is all the way down here?” Ravus drawled. 

“I could say the same about you,” Prompto gritted back, not even bothering to look around, though his pulse thrummed wildly in his throat. He should have known Ravus wouldn’t leave things alone after what happened that night. That he hadn’t revealed Prompto for what he was when he’d first laid eyes on him was somewhat of a miracle. He was never meant to know that Prompto was down here, square in the middle of all of this. “Aldercapt finally loosening his leash?” 

Ravus didn't seem to appreciate Prompto’s glibness, but then again, that was just his face. “I needed to reign in my sister. What’s your excuse?” 

Prompto bit the inside of his lip, keeping a caustic remark from escaping. To try to argue that Luna was not just a possession for Ravus to control was wasted on his ears. It wasn’t as if Prompto hadn’t already tried everything he could to make the stubborn man see reason.

It was one of the reasons why he’d helped her escape in the first place. But if he’d known her plan from the beginning...well, things would have gone a lot differently. 

In any case, the less they spoke of Luna, the better. Prompto may have been caught, but he was not going to be the one that gave her away.

Adjusting self consciously, Prompto was painfully aware how exposed he–and his new art–was. Ravus’ eyes narrowed and he let out a mocking laugh. “Don’t tell me you came down into this cesspool for that beast.” 

Lightning flashed between them as he glared scathingly at the taller man, even if a small part of him was relieved Ravus would draw that conclusion instead of the truth. “None of your business.” 

Ravus scanned him with pale eyes. “Perhaps,” he said as he turned to leave. Over his shoulder, he parted, “but your master may find this information...interesting.” With that, he disappeared into a cloud of black smoke, making Prompto stamp out his cigarette angrily, hissing as an ember burned his thumb.

His anxiety returned tenfold, pooling in his chest acidically at the clear threat. He didn't truly believe that Ravus would betray him; he despised Versteal and his cronies just as much as Prompto did. But there was no escaping the fact that Versteal _would_ find out. Prompto had been seen by too many to continue to avoid his notice, blowing his cover in such a spectacular fashion in the middle of the street.

He ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring the throbbing in his thumb and turned his back on the unforgiving city and looked longingly into the dark window of Gladio’s home...into his _future,_ for however long he was allowed to have it _._ With a swelling of passion, Prompto knew that he would do anything to protect his new family. No matter what he was, and no matter what he would be forced to do in the coming year...even if it meant that Gladio would one day hate him, he would protect what small sanctuary he’d found. 

With that resolve, Prompto walked back inside and closed the door. Gladio mumbled sleepily as Prompto slipped beneath the covers, winding his large arms around Prompto’s frame and warming his frigid limbs with only the slightest complaints. Wrapped in his lover’s arms, Prompto closed his eyes, and for as long as he could make this last...allowed himself to be happy.

**END**

**Author's Note:**

> Yeah, so there will most likely be a part 2 to this, I still have so many ideas and there's a whole other side to this story that I didn't tell. Also I really want to did more into Prom and Gladio's relationship. I intended to do a lot more but I had keep this one short T~T Anyone interested in seeing this continued? :D
> 
> Hope you guys enjoyed!


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